It's worn floral pattern was lucky I hit the carpet with my first gush of vomit. Mom hurried me into the bathroom, globulous projectiles marking the p...th. I threw up into the toilet bowl until the dry heaves left me too weak to drool. Mother knew what was best for me. As I hovered over the porcelain receptacle her fingers sneaked into my cunt and eased my suffering. She took me to her bed and tucked me in. I slept for an entire day.I awoke over the course of two hours. Full daylight struggled. As he waited, he shuffled into his dad’s old top coat and looked himself in the mirror. The boy that looked back at him was almost a man- at least he thought so. He was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, well toned from weight lifting and sports. His hair was neatly trimmed, as was his Van Dyke beard and mustache. He was dressed in khaki slacks, a light blue dress shirt, a blue blazer, and penny loafers. His fathers old cashmere topcoat didn’t quite go with the ensemble, nor did the fedora by. “For God’s sake,” She tried to turn away.“What? You are.”“You don’t have to say that just because,” She felt angry with him all of a sudden. Angry that he should think she needed his compliments even though she did, even though despite the rush of warmth she wouldn’t have believed him if he’d said it a thousand times. She looked at him. He looked at her. Her eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. His dark eyes seemed to know too much, to see too much.“I’m not even kidding,” he said. “You’re perfection,. Now, finish a sentence.” They say that actions speak louder than words and what the blonde did spoke volumes. She slid two fingers into the dancer’s damp pussy with unerring accuracy. “You’re aroused,” she said. And Bree definitely was. She slid her fingers in and out slowly twice, as if testing her technique. Bree couldn’t stop the hiss of pleasure that wheezed between her lips when the blonde did that. “You don’t have any pubic hair. How novel. I’ve never touched a hairless one before.” She.