White Girl And White Boy Fun

It wasn’t long before Mrs. T came out. She was wearing her gardening clothes, a white tee shirt and bib like shorts. Her was hair pulled up, and tied with a bow. She looked sexier than the poster girls on the walls.She leaned over the fender and cut right to the chase. She asked me if I had ever had sex with a woman before. My wrench slipped, smashing my finger. She laughed and asked again. Other than a hand job from a MILF, and some making out with my girlfriend, I hadn’t. She then asked if I’d planned on being intimate with my girlfriend—taste her, touch her, make her feel special. Something else I had not done yet, but I was more than willing to.Mrs. T went over and sat down on the makeshift couch. It was a bench seat out of an old Ford pick-up truck. She tapped her hand on the seat next to her, while curling her index finger for me to sit next to her. I wiped my hands with my shop rag, taking a seat next to her. Mrs. T turned to me and told me to kiss her. Telling me that she was. But it would only be the emotional equivalent of a small flesh wound. He didn’t know real pain. In the morning she would give him one more time. She would allow herself one more time with him. One more time to feel close and safe and special. One more time to moan appreciatively as he spent himself inside her. One more time to give the only thing she had worth sharing, to connect with him in the only way she knew how. He would work tonight, they would have sex in the morning, and then she would tell him. She felt a wetness on her jaw. Letting the wind dry it, she mused, It must be getting ready to rain. Please, let it be rain. Hannah never cried. ******** As she walked around the house, Hannah observed that she didn’t feel any sentiment about the place. It had never felt like a home to her. She had resisted the urge to redecorate the rooms to suit her tastes. She had made that mistake before, when she had settled into Tim’s place. She stayed with him longer than she should have.
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