Those Innocent Days

It seems surreal to me now, almost as in a dream. Those days of clumsy fumbling, days of exploration, of explosion.I remember the first time she pulled my hand toward her lips and took my middle finger in her mouth. She then guided that hand, finger slick with her saliva, down to her panties and past her waistband. She had taken to wearing sun dresses when we met. Looking back, I believe it might have been to afford me easier access to bare skin and cotton fabric.Her mom şişli escort had a rule: As long as I see both of your heads through the car window you are okay. So we were very careful to sit upright in the front seat of my old coupe.I eased my hand down, following the curve of her mound until my slick fingertip felt the heat of her opening. Pausing there, I leaned in to kiss her, mouths opening just a bit, tongue tips dancing against each other. She rolled her hips forward mecidiyeköy escort against my hand and I made a curve of my middle finger, barely penetrating her. She leaned her head back against the fabric of the car seat and I kissed, nuzzled, nibbled, just below her ear.Her hand had found its way to the front of my jeans, her palm flat against my hardness, resting there. I pressed deeper into her, warm and impossibly slick on my finger. I started to move in a slow-motion “come here” gesture as I kissed that spot where shoulder meets neck.Her hand was now pressing harder against me through denim. Pressing and releasing in a slow hypnotic rhythm.She never moaned, never screamed. Just a quick intake of breath, a gasp as her stomach tightened suddenly and her hips pushed hard against my hand, her hand gripping me through my jeans.Our lips came together, mouths open, each breath coming fast. My hand in her panties, a finger moving deep inside her. Silky feel of her sparse blonde hair against my palm as I pushed against her mound; her hand unbuttoning the top fastener of my Levi’s.