" And how old are you Mr. Pinkman?" He's nineteen," Edgar said."Let him answer the question. How old are you Mr. Pinkman?"Pinky looked at the floor an... shuffled his feet like he was trying to remember his age. "Nineteen," he said, confirming what we already knew."This question is for Mr. Pinkman. Do you know how old this young man is?" Mr. Oldham asked, sounding impatient.Pinky looked up, a blank stare in his eyes, gazed at me for a second and shook his head, no. I remembered that Ellen had. I’d loved Justine’s curves… just to have touched them, if but once. Well, I could touch them now, in a way. I ran my left hand over the prickly softness of the wool, feeling an acceleration of my pulse as my hand moved over where Justine’s breast would have been. My cock throbbed its delighted, if dumb response. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. I was groping my absent neighbour… and it felt good. A little too good. I looked for some tissues but my eyes caught on something better. Panties.. More

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