Oh yes, especially tongue.When he came to my apartment door to help me down with my suitcases – yes, plural, even for three days – we had our firs... passionate kiss. By passionate, I mean French kissing, tongues dueling. When we broke the clinch and he pulled back, I could see that he was blushing. I too looked red, I could tell, yet in my mind it was simply a glow.In the car, we sat on opposite sides of the back seat. As far as the driver was concerned, we could have been co-workers on a. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and my heart flew into my throat. I had worn pairs of her panties before, but that was about pleasure, about getting off and having something, anything of a woman’s nearby. But I couldn’t wear a skirt. Could I? I wanted to. Why did I want to?My eyes flickered to the corner, where a pile of old clothes had fallen forgotten behind the hanging things. The fuzzy, soft pink sweater was in my hand in a flash and before I knew what I was doing, I was holding it. More

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