My right hand had gone for her right shoulder, but had overshot its mark. Nonetheless, I had gained a solid purchase with it on her struggling form. T...e handhold I had found — and still held — was none other than her succulent right breast.Again, we both froze, and I was torn between apologetically removing my hand — and acknowledging that I had overstepped the obvious bounds of our relationship — or leaving it there in order to play the "innocent ignorance card." Not surprisingly, given such. What I'll do first is enhance your youthful appearance and we'll get a few shots. Then I'll make you look a few years older, say sixteen or eighteen. When will she let you age some more?" I don't know, she hasn't said this time. The last time, however, she said I couldn't age for four weeks and not then unless I could convincingly act like a little girl," I replied."How did you convince her?" she asked."We went to the park and the zoo and I had to interact with the other little girls." Amazing,. York’s face was as striking as her body: full cheeks with a dab of red on each, the narrow, high forehead of an intellectual, with a few curls of golden hairs hanging down to her eyes. It was a perfect outline, a beauty only enhanced by the smooth luster of her pale skin. Her thick curls of golden hair fell past her shoulders, and I could just make out a pair of tiny round earrings behind that voluminous hair. If it was possible to deduce someone’s personality based on their looks, Ms. York was. Mother’s bedroom door was shut when I returned, so I continued on to bed. I lay in bed, unable to sl**p. My mind ran over and over the image of Margie cupping and massaging my mother’s breasts, kissing her neck. I tossed and turned, unable to sl**p for what seemed like forever. My hand ran up my tee shirt, over my stomach to my breast. I massaged it the way Margie had touched my mom. I pinched and pulled at my nipple, feeling it harden between my fingers. My other hand slid between my thighs.