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spine and then slip my hands beneath your shoulders until I am able to cup both your breasts. No physiotherapy ever devised was ever thus so jointly therapeutic. You murmur as you hold your arms outstretched. "Ohhh that is so nice Noel!" Considering this possibly one of the greatest understatements of modern times, I nuzzle your lovely neck and just whisper how much I have always wanted you. You turn your head slightly – enough lets say for me to be able to lean across and kiss you soundly on the lips. Im not even thinking of you at that moment I realise. In fact, my mind goes back to my being twelve years old. Ages and continents apart, in quite another time, I remember suddenly poor old Mrs Cherry. I dont even know who she was. Simply an unutterably old lady – completely infirmed and in her nineties. My Aunt had taken her in and cared for her many years earlier. She was in her seventies herself then. Once in a while I would ride my bicycle the few miles from my home to my Aunts house where I would cut her tiny back-lawn - little more than hack-it really, with a pair of pretty blunt shears she used to hang in the rotted old garden shed out back. She always gave me half-a-crown...insisted I should have it, although I had only gone there to help her, as she had severe back trouble and could not crouch down for long periods. Never did I fail to look-in and see Mrs Cherry in her darkened annex as she lay on that decrepit old bed. The little room smelled of urine and approaching death, and yet she would take my hand and smile at me. I loved her. This one afternoon after I had done what I could with the grass, I was ushered in to her room of faded hopes and dreams. I looked down as she slowly sought my hand and near blind now, pressed something into it. It was a two-shilling piece. No gift ever carried greater sentiment. She died that weekend and it is only now for some reason that I realise, that but for the overlapping vagueries of time itself, it could so easily have been her lying on this bed awaiting my touch and maybe some physical evidence of the love I hold. Maybe you are her, and we are destined to cross paths for all eternity. The memories upset me momentarily and I hug you and kiss you needfully. You turn over and cradle me suddenly. I feel like such a little boy. You ask me if everything is alright but I assure you I have never felt happier. It is the truth. I have a pressing need to remove your top and for some reason you sense my urgency. You let me undo the necessary buttons and then shuck the thing off as I pull down your bra straps and reach around to unhook you. Free


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of social confinements the sheer beauty of your breasts stuns me. I am no longer the master of your sexual destiny but rather a student lover in awe of his beautiful teacher. As my lips latch upon your nipple you sigh and lie back. I suck deeper and feel you pulling me to you. Kissing you becomes a desperate need and I whisper words that no literate script-writer would ever be likely to have penned. One hand follows the southern freeway, past your belly button, across the flatlands and clear beneath the elastic border. There is no toll to pay. The odd gorse bush is no deterrent and my fingers reach the fringes of Nirvana. I sense I am a welcome visitor and not waiting for an announcement, slip inside where it is so warm and accommodating. Beneath me, your hips thrust noticeably upwards, meeting my own downward and gently invasive penetrations. I need to see that which I can feel. You need to show that which no longer demands to be hidden. Slipping your panties down, I am presented with that supreme architectural accomplishment that I have seen and thrilled-to so many times before. Yet it is uniquely different – it is you. The balance of power shifts yet again. Your emotions peel back upon themselves and as you lie there now, a vulnerable and dependent little girl once again, I am Columbus, Genghis Khan, Thomas Edison, Euclid – on the verge of a new discovery. I remove my own clothes and none too confidently at that. It is simply the unfamiliarity not embarrassment that impedes my actions. Divested of your skirt you are equally naked and both physically and mentally prepped for what is to follow. I am still kneeling there between your legs when I realise you have gently taken a hold of my erection and even now are lovingly caressing it along its length. Distracted to the point of feverish need, I manage to stave off my blindly motivated procreational urges, preferring instead to let you suffer the indignity of having to make the first move. I am made to pay for my laughably ill-conceived arrogance. How like me you prove to be ultimately, quite obviously realising the emotional connections far outweigh the physical ones. As if sensing the impasse, we lay now facing each other side by side – neither with any sexual advantage. From this fully neutral viewpoint it takes but the simplest of shared impulses to set in motion all that we both want. All that we ever wanted. We kiss. Those millions of nerve endings suddenly hot-wired and sending frantic messages to all points of the compass are but one aspect of kissing. The instantly opened-up two way passage of emotional feedback, the taste of desire, the starters pistol – all this and so much more. Did I place my erection at those beautiful lower lips? Did you? Does it matter? As I push gently up inside you.....nothing matters, simply being there! I study your lovely expression