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She seemed to open like a flower.He could, and did bury his face between her thighs.They were wet and slippery thighs, wet so that hisears slipped eas...ly against them. Her trimmed pubichair was wet. His face was wet. This was like nothinghe’d imagined.He lifted his face for a moment and looked at Marsha’spussy. Every shade of pink surely? It glistened. Shemoaned and squirmed on the table, her legs opened,wider, he could see into her.Paul slid his hand down the backs of her thighs, tobeginning. She returned after a few minutes with a short t-shirt and sweatpants saying, "Alright, let's get this place cleaned up so we can get to bed."I knew what she meant, but to hear her say, "we" and "bed" in the same sentence involving me gave my imagination a spark. She held her hands above her head and pulled her hair into a ponytail in a move she'd done countless times in her life. I watched as the shirt ran high, brushing her nipples that I could barely make out. For an instant, I could see her. More

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