He put the drinks on the table and came over to u kissed u hard but soft running he's hand over ur face then neck sliding it down to ur thighs it made...u groan a little al the entensaty of the moment made u think about fucking him so hard, u loved the feeling of another man on u which u thought u hated but ur pussy was getting so wet u even came already with the whole thing. He was runing he's hands up ur legs feeling ur stockings then said I love a girl in stocking u said so dose my fiancée and. But that's just the way my mind works. My imagination runs ahead of me ... for good or for bad, it just does. But here's one way my imagination sees things one year in the future:"I can't believe you've made it this long, Meg," I said."I know, Mom! I can't either! But the timing was just never right." I understand." And what about you?" she said. "You haven't been with him in a year either. How did you last this whole summer?" I don't know. Just like you, Honey. It was a timing thing. The other. Slightly detached news stories that only told half the story. Told whatever the government deemed necessary. There was some tense cold war going on between world superpowers, and it eventually erupted. Things did change, but they were subtle, small. Certain products slowly disappeared off the shelves of shops. Certain TV shows stopped. New movies and games stopped being regularly released. It always seemed so gradual, and I was young. In teenage years I’d turn around and wonder why something. I gave her the clothes and she went to my bathroom, her shoes making that "too wet" squishy noise with every step. I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, quiet!", she said with a joking anger and she closed the bathroom door. "I'm just fuckin' with ya..." I said. I could have sworn I heard her mumble, "not yet", but I chalked it up to my imagination. She cracked the door and handed me her wet clothes. "Be right back" I said as I stepped out of the door and down to the laundry room.I heard the TV going.
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