Nepali Maal
It was March 4 -- Tess' 23rd birthday. In honor of the big day, Kim and I got her an ice cream cake -- an elaborate, sinfully calorie-rich masterpiece prepared for her by special order by a local creamery. And, as part of the celebration, we required Tess to spend the entire day Saturday in her "birthday suit."Yes -- that birthday suit.Not surprisingly, Tess was more than willing to parade around all day in the buff. It did become a small annoyance for her from time to time, as Tess, like most people, enjoyed getting outside at least a little bit, even on stay-at-home off days from golf.I knew she'd go outside -- with or without clothing -- if she thought she could get away with it, so I watched her pretty closely. It was pleasant duty. I remembered the old days, when Tess and I had first shared the RV on the road. She had worn a maxi-sized man's sweatshirt (and nothing much else) in those days.The sweatshirt covered everything completely, but if she was going for subtlety or modesty. I wanted it again but nothing came. I ran my hand across her belly to her side and she mimicked my move, brushing her hand across by tummy. She smiled and brushed her hair behind her ears and gazed at me with her small eyes. Asian they were. Just like mine. Our lips connected again gently, then with more force. Her hands drifted up to my chest, circling them. I responded similarly and realised my hand was on her firm breasts. We smiled at each other gently and then embraced in another kiss, this time our lips parting, tasting each other’s tongues for the first time. They danced to unheard music, twirling back and forth, side to side, exchanging fluids which I found very strangely arousing. Our lips never parted as our hands slowly explored each other’s physique. I reached down to her thighs, smooth, slender, soft. Brushing my hand on the inside of one of her thigh, she jerked a bit, not obvious, but felt. My hand stayed there sweeping slowly up and down, back and forth, no doubt.
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