Bubbles

By

Donna M.

bubbles.jpg

She was nineteen.

She showed me her driver’s license as proof.

It didn’t look like a fake, yet it was so hard to believe by looking at the diminutive girl holding it. 

She was no taller than four foot eight and called herself Bubbles.  Over the months she was in my life she told me several different stories about the nickname’s origin, so much so I pretty much stopped listening, and a few times came up with my own.  She said her parents were ‘little people’ (in my mind I think ‘dwarf’ though I know it isn’t politically correct today) and that was why she was so small, and yet she didn’t have mismatched body part dimensions as most ‘little people’ I’ve seen on television have.  When she entered my life I did some internet research and came across terms like neoteny and pedomorphism that could explain the fact that she was nearly twenty and yet looked like she was nine.  

She approached me on the boardwalk at the beach where I’d paused for a cigarette.  She asked me for one and after I chastised her for smoking at her age she showed me her license.  She had short and curly blond hair and wore a colorful bikini, not filling it by any means.  I gave her a cigarette and lit it for her.  After taking a drag on it she asked if I was driving to Boston any time soon and asked for a ride.  She told me to call her Bubbles and I told her that yes, I was headed for Boston shortly, actually to a South Shore suburb, and that I’d give her a ride.

“You’re at the beach, and no wife or girlfriend?” she asked.

My name is Marty Balsam (no relation to the old actor) and I lived alone.  I didn’t give details but told her of my wife’s recent passing from cervical cancer and that a day at the beach kept my mind from depression.

She said, “You’re a great looking man, and if you’re always nice like today—giving me a ride—then I bet you won’t be alone for long.”

I knew she meant well, and it didn’t sound like a come-on.  I told her that grieving had its own timetable and that with my memories I wasn’t truly alone.

Allowing second thoughts to linger, I gave the girl a ride to Boston.  She told me matter-of-factly that she’d been living at home with her parents “to save up money for college” but reluctantly understood that higher education for her was a pipe dream.  She told me that her dad treated her “like shit” because she didn’t look like him.

“You’re his child, right?” I asked.  When she answered with a half nod, half shrug I added, “So you think he believes you’re not.  That’s sad in any case.”

“Yeah it is.  I kinda always worried about what to say around him, and my mother acted funny when someone said that we didn’t look alike.  So maybe he isn’t my dad, but that doesn’t matter now anyway.”

We talked for a while about inconsequential things until I told her, “I’m going to get one of those fried dough things for the road.  You want one?”

“Sure, the ones with cinnamon and sugar on top are my favorites.”

“I’m partial to maple glaze myself, like it’s a big fluffy, gooey donut.”

She laughed, a high-pitched titter that perpetuated any confusion over her real age.  I bought the fried dough at a boardwalk stand and we walked to the parking lot and my car.

I ate the fried dough while driving, getting the steering wheel suitable sticky, explaining that what we were eating was called different things in different parts of the country.  “I was at a fair in the Midwest and saw a sign for ‘Elephant Ears’ and laughed when I saw what they looked like,” holding up my half eaten snack for reference.  “Have you ever heard of funnel cakes?”

She said she hadn’t and so I explained the nuances of each.  It didn’t really matter since we were both immensely enjoying what we had regardless of the name.

“So, where exactly are you going?” I asked as I drove down I-95.

She said, “I found this youth home thing, like a hostel close to one of my jobs.”

“And where is that?”

“Shiney’s Pizza.  You know where that is?”

I knew it.  The place was surprisingly close to my house and I had eaten there a few times.  The pizzas were okay though the restaurant seemed dingy and far from living up to its name.  I kidded her about her short stature standing behind a counter, not to be mean but to assess her sense of humor and self.  She really was a cute thing and strangely I felt very protective of her.  She laughed and took no offense.

As I drove through Boston proper I commented that she probably should pull something out of her small knapsack to cover up before we got to her destination.

As she found shorts and a t-shirt and slid them on she said, “Why?  You think some dirty old man will get too much to look at?”  She chuckled and so I knew it was just teasing.

I countered with, “Am I a dirty old man?  After all, I’ve been getting a good look at you ever since the beach.”

“Naw, you’re a nice man… and not that old… and besides with me there’s not much to look at anyway.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.  You’re very cute.”

She laughed, “Oh boy, two of my favorite words: short and cute.”

I laughed along with her, “Okay, I get it, but there’s nothing wrong with cute.  Besides, saying you have a cute body to me isn’t a slam.  I tend to like petite.”

She laughed some more, “You’re forgiven, especially since you think I’m cute but haven’t made a move on me.”

“How do you know I won’t… cutie pie?”

“I just know you wouldn’t,” she said, and her tone made me glance at her.  The way she looked back at me surprised me a little.  I figured I’d scored some points with her for the ride alone, but something else was in play.  “You’re a special man, Marty.”

“And all because I was going your way,” I lightheartedly said.

She replied barely above a whisper, “It’s more than that.”

Directing me to the neighborhood that would be her new home I sensed that it wasn’t a very good neighborhood to live in.  Helping her with her knapsack, I expressed my misgivings and handed her a card with my number on it.  “Don’t be afraid to call if you need help.  Good luck.”

She leaned up on tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.  “I meant it.  You’re a special man to take a chance on giving me a ride all this way.  I hope you find the right woman so you won’t be alone for long.”

I watched her little butt scamper into the house before climbing back into my car and driving the rest of the way home.

____

 

I thought about Bubbles for a few days but the memory faded like most encounters of this kind do.  Life went on.

One Saturday about a month later I was surprised by a call from the young lady.  She began with, “I didn’t know who else to turn to,” before telling me how two men living at the same home had accosted her and that she was afraid of being raped.  “Can you help me find someplace else to live?” was the bottom line of the call.

I didn’t have a clue on housing probabilities and furthermore I couldn’t see her being able to afford the area’s high rents on her own.  Looking around my house and all its unused space, alarms went off in my head but I said it anyway, “You can stay with me until you find a place of your own.  I have the room and I promise you’ll have your privacy.”

“You’d do that for me, Marty?”

“At least long enough for you to find something else,” I said, “Are you ready to leave now… I can drive over to get you now if you’d like.”

“Oh yes!  I’ll be ready when you get here.  I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

I won’t lie. As I drove I pondered all the ramifications of her ‘thanking’ me.

____

 

She was at the curb when I drove up and quickly hopped in, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek and once more thanking me profusely.  “I promise I’ll help out with cooking and cleaning and stuff, and I’ll pay for my own food.  You won’t regret having me around.”

“Okayyyyyyyy,” I said, “But can you actually cook anything?”

She put on a false pouty-face before giggling and saying, “I know how to cook hot dogs and hamburgers.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

She hugged herself like I’ve seen many a woman do and remained quiet through the rest of the drive, only speaking up when I turned onto my street.  “Wow, this looks like a real nice neighborhood.  Which house is yours?”

“You’ll see.”

She exhaled another “Wow” when I entered my driveway.  I carried her knapsack—a new one, I noticed—and led her into the house.  I gave her a quick tour and showed her the guest bedroom which would be hers.  When she saw the tub she giggled and said she loved bubble baths and couldn’t wait to take one.  Once again I thought about her nickname and chuckled to myself.  Her eyes really bugged out when I showed her the hot tub out on the private section of my back deck.

“Do you use this a lot?” she asked, probably because it was presently covered.

“Occasionally, though with you here I can’t go naked.”

She giggled again.  “It must be cool to go naked anytime you want to.”

“It’s not cool in a hot tub,” I said, and that set off a new round of girlish giggles.  “I always wondered what it would be like to be a nudist, or a naturist as they call themselves today.”

“They really have places like that?  Where people are all naked and play volleyball?”

I laughed, “Volleyball, huh?  I guess you’ve seen those pictures on the web.  In my youth we had magazines that we boys hid under our mattresses.”

Another giggle, “And jerked off to pictures of girls.”

“Guilty as charged.”

I asked her if she was hungry and then proceeded to make sandwiches for us.  After she ate hers she asked if she could take a bubble bath and I told her to go ahead and enjoy it though I didn’t have anything to produce the bubbles.  She said she’d use whatever soap or shampoo she could find and make do.

When she rejoined me as I sat watching television she wore a midriff-baring camisole top and the shortest of gym shorts.  “What you watching?” she asked.

“Last week’s Walking Dead episode I DVR’ed.”

“Oh, I don’t like that one, it’s too scary.”

“What would you like to watch?”

“You don’t have to give up the TV for me.”

“No, really, it’s okay.  I was thinking of using the hot tub anyway.”

Her expression was transparent.  She’d been thinking about the hot tub too, and perhaps nudity to go along with it.  However, she didn’t say anything as I left her the remote and went to fetch my swim shorts.  Unlike usual I wouldn’t be naked today.

As I half expected her to do, I’d been in the water for only a few minutes when she came out and asked to join me.  Thankfully not naked I said it was okay.  I’d looked away to reach for my beer therefore I didn’t immediately see her get undressed and climb into the water. I didn’t presume she had her bikini on under her clothes and for a split second I refrained from looking at her.  When I did and before she sat down next to me I nervously said, “Nice tan lines.”  I’d always been a fan of old-fashioned tan lines (remember what I’d said about the old nudist mags) and hers accentuated her tight little bottom nicely.  She was smooth down below, perpetuating the preteen semblance, but I didn’t comment on that observation.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she said in her attempt at a sultry voice, though it was too high-pitched to be truly sexy.

“Ah, I guess not,” I replied but I was lying.  She snuggled up against me and placed a hand not-so-innocently on my nearest leg.  Please, don’t move it upward I silently begged as my eyes focused on her discarded clothing lying in a miniscule pile on the patio tiles.  Her flat chest always made me doubt her age.  Somehow I had to fully verify her license if she was to continue living with me.

“You know, you can go naked in here like I am,” she said barely above a whisper.  “This is your place and it’s not like I haven’t seen one, you know.”

Seen one?  Again, it was the contradiction between her looks and how she acted.  One simply assumed by looking at her that she was an innocent virgin.  But could the waif be believed, or was there a huge trap being laid out before me?

She looked into my eyes all serious like and said, “You said you didn’t have a girlfriend, so maybe I can make you feel better, like thanking you for letting me stay here.”

I sputtered, “You don’t have to thank me.  I’m okay.”

That’s when her hand made its way to my crotch.  Wide mouthed she muttered, “You don’t feel like you’re okay.”  Now that she’d touched my erection she was right, I wasn’t okay any longer.  I moaned involuntarily as she moved her hand inside my shorts.  She whispered, “It feels like a nice one.”

No words were then spoken as she slid my shorts off under the roiling waterline and casually stroked me.  Regardless of her flat chest her nipples were ruddy and taut.  I saw it in her eyes too; this girl was horny!  Finally I said, “We can’t,” but my protestation was as false at it was pointless.

“Let’s go into the house,” she said, “It’s been a long time for me too.”

My mind short-circuited on that.  Well, she’s not a virgin, I guess.  When she stood I did too and surprised her by picking her up into my arms.  Who cared if we trailed water behind us and into my living room?  Lovemaking should always begin with a kiss so that’s what I did as I held her, with her skinny legs wrapped around my waist as far as they could go.  Her tongue met mine and I sensed the hunger—in both of us.

When our lips separated she whispered, “Let me suck you like I said out there.”

While I put her down and sat on the sofa I said, “What can I do for you?”

On her knees she nestled between my legs and palmed my cock.  “You’ll take care of me after.”  Smiling, she added, “You’re too horny to last long anyway so it wouldn’t be the best for me.”  Then she slipped my cock-head between her lips and I was transported to heaven.

With plenty of eye contact she blew me like a pro.  And she was correct: “I’m cumming!” I groaned.  My ‘warning’ kept her from choking as most of my copious output ended up on her face and chest.  I used a couple of fingers to wipe the semen from her mouth and chin and then helped her ‘play’ with the rest that was on her chest and dribbling down her belly.

“See, I knew you’d have a lot saved up and it wouldn’t take you long to cum,” she said before giggling as I rubbed my jism onto her tiny nipples.

“They’re very sensitive, I see.”  She had no tits but her nipples looked suckable and so ignoring my own deposit I did just that.

“How did you know I liked to have them sucked on even if I’m as flat as a pancake?” she said more as a moan than anything else.

“A man knows such things, and besides I like pancakes, plus I did put syrup on them.”

She giggled, reached for my cock and feeling it growing erect again said, “And you definitely are a man.”

That was her sentiment and I appreciated the compliment, however all I had to do was look at her body and irrationally feel like more of a pedophile than a real man for doing what we were doing and what we were about to do.  Nevertheless I went back to nibbling and sucking on her responsive nipples.  Her hoarse groans were my reward.

She eventually muttered, “Oh God, I’m dripping!”

Okay, I had to check after that declaration.  I laid her upon the sofa and began kissing her legs, working toward her bare little pussy.  There was some light stubble that was felt more than seen.  “You shave often?”

She replied, “I like to be smooth,” before groaning loudly when I licked her labia.

“Smooth is nice.”

Her clitoris was the tiniest I think I’ve ever seen.  When I ‘found’ it and tickled it with my tongue she gasped.  Her diminutive size and somewhat arrested development didn’t seem to extend to her sexual sensitivity.  She cried out, “Yes…yes!” several times as I nibbled and sucked on her tiny pearl of an organ.  Her orgasm was intense—and loud.

“I wasn’t the only one that wouldn’t last long,” I said, “So what were you worried about?”

She giggled, “Maybe I wanted you to do what you just did first.”

“So what now?” I asked.  “In my mind you are thanking me for letting you stay here.”  She opened her mouth to speak but I shushed her and continued, “There’s no doubt I’d love to go all the way with you, but maybe we should cool it and get to know each other better.  I guess I’m old-fashioned in thinking like that but that’s who I am.”

“Oh Marty!  I’m so lucky I found you at the beach.  You’re the best,” she declared before jumping me and planting a tongue-fueled kiss on me.  After the kiss she giggled and said, “I bet you don’t have any condoms anyway.”

She was correct.  I didn’t.  “We can get some when we go grocery shopping.”

That produced more giggles.  In a deeper, false voice she mimicked, “Frozen foods in aisle 5, condoms and lubricants in aisle 11.”

“Lubricants, huh?”

“Of course, silly.  How else are you gonna fit?”

“Let me see that license of yours again.”

More giggles, and crazily this time I joined in.

____

 

For the next couple of days she settled in, determined to pull her weight with chores.  We’d bought the condoms but except for some friendly fondling had yet to consummate anything.  I appreciated her backing off on sex since somehow it made me feel better about having her living with me.  I realized that she could be manipulating old conservative me yet in reality what did it matter?

Besides the condoms she’d bought some bubble bath liquid.  Her bubble baths became something of a ritual as she demurely hid under the foamy canopy before calling me in to “wash” her back.  She really wanted me to wash her front so that’s where I concentrated.  This was foreplay, with copulation right around the corner.  I pushed skyrocketing water bills from my mind.

Three nights after moving in she visited me in my bed.  Silently she slid her naked warmth next to me and palmed my cock.  “I think it’s time,” she whispered in my ear.  My stiffening dick became my response.  Upon my now stiff member she unrolled a condom and lay atop me.  Before she kissed me I asked about the lube, and that’s when she slid down a little and I felt my encased cockhead slide in between her obviously lubricated labia.  Oh God I wanted to let go and slide her the rest of the way but I instinctually knew that would hurt so I held myself in check and let her lead.

“This is gonna be so special,” she purred between more kisses.

“Are you sure?” I said, and realized how silly that sounded with my cockhead poised to penetrate her farther.

In my moonlit bedroom every sensory input shouted that I was in bed with someone too young to be here.  She was almost weightless on top of me and without breasts to fill space between us.  And yet this creature who adamantly wanted me was all woman.  I felt her flinch as I slid another inch into her.

“We don’t have to do this,” I whispered.

“Yes, we do… I do.”

She was incredibly tight but she wasn’t a virgin, and with the help of the lubricant I soon was all the way in.  I lay there and let her move at her own pace.  After a few tentative moves it became apparent to me that she was past any pain threshold (if there was one) even though she remained silent.

Her silence didn’t last long.  After a couple of more vigorous ‘slides’ (how else could I describe her movements?) she began to moan before murmuring, “You can move too, you know.”

“Your wish is my command,” I said before rolling over so that she was under me.  Supporting myself up on my knees so my weight wouldn’t crush her, with my cock still inside her vagina I urged her legs up and wide and proceeded to rhythmically thrust.  “Like this?” I asked, smiling in spite of the nagging feeling that I was fucking someone I shouldn’t be fucking.

“Oh God yessssssssssssss!” she cried.  By this time she’d grabbed my hips and urged me on, and I was happy to oblige.

I’d never been with a woman as tight as Bubbles was.  I was cumming before I even knew it was upon me.  One more look at her lying below me kept me miraculously hard and I kept going until she screamed out her orgasmic ecstasy.

“Did you…?” she asked.  Having pulled out of her with a slight ‘plop’ I showed her the filled end of the condom before I pulled it off. 

“I guess you did,” she said with a chuckle.  She wanted the spent condom so I handed it over before rolling onto my side next to her.  She held the condom upside-down so its contents spilled out onto her chest.  “I kinda like to play with it when it’s warm.”

As she rubbed my spunk around her nipples I said, “Next time I’ll make sure to put it where you want it.”

She smiled dreamily and said, “Next time… there definitely will be a next time, Marty.”

“Have you ever slept with a man?  I don’t mean sex.  I mean actually spending the night in his bed?”

“No.  Never.  Is that like an invitation?”

“I suppose it is, you little minx.”

And that’s what she did, spending the night curled up next to me in the bed that I’ve been alone in ever since Beth died.

The next day before heading off to work I told her she could stay with me as long as she liked.

____

 

About two weeks later I was accosted by one of my neighbors.  Mrs. Cravitz, who was the block’s busybody, had figured out that Bubbles was now living with me “in sin” and brazenly said she’d called the cops on me.  “I knew you were a pervert and now I know you’re a pedophile too,” she declared.  I tried to explain the young woman’s age but realized that it was a wasted effort.

Sure enough, two detectives were at my door later in the day asking questions about the “girl” living with me and our relationship.

“She’s my girlfriend.  That’s my relationship to her,” I said, surprised at my anger even as I understood Mrs. Cravitz’s confusion.

“Is the girl around?” one of them asked.

“She’s working at Shiney’s Pizza but should be home any minute,” I replied after glancing at my watch.

Pissed off, I didn’t invite them in even after one of them asked.  We awkwardly waited at my door until my car pulled into the driveway and Bubbles emerged.  I saw both men blink at the sight of her and immediately turn to stare at me.  “How old is she?” one of them asked the obvious question.

“Why don’t you ask her?” I said before she came to me and kissed me right there in front of the detectives.

I explained the ‘problem’ to her and she happily pulled out her license to show them.

“Mind if we verify this?” One asked before walking to the unmarked while the other kept his eyes on us like we were on the FBI’s most wanted list.  Bubbles caught my eye and I picked up on the non-verbal communication.  She was going to play this for all it was worth.

“When they’re gone you wanna use the hot tub?  I need it bad,” she said as she hugged my side, one hand quite close to my crotch.  The one who stayed with us wore an expression that swung between disorientation and disgust.

After a few minutes the other guy returned, handed Bubbles her license and asked her a couple of questions about where she was from etc., mostly (I guessed) to confirm that she wasn’t staying with me under some form of duress.  They left without an apology, looking upset that they couldn’t bust a pedophile today.

Bubbles whispered, “That nosy woman is looking out her window.  Pick me up and kiss me.  Let’s give her a show.”

I provided an even better show for Mrs. Cravitz than a mere kiss, as I brazenly slid my hand into Bubbles’s pants and squeezed her tight little ass.

“I wasn’t kidding about the hot tub,” the little minx said with a wide grin.  “The place was a madhouse today,” meaning the pizza parlor where she worked.

We walked to the hot tub, losing our clothes along the way.  I said, “Tell me all about how bad work was today,” and realized I sounded like a husband and immediately thought about Beth and how much I missed her.

Bubbles, bless her, saw that something was troubling me and surmised correctly what it was.  My glance at my late wife’s picture on the mantle as we walked by did it.  “My work is okay,” she said as we climbed into the bubbling water.  “I just let little things get to me, that’s all.  I haven’t thanked you enough for what you’ve done for me.  And before you say anything sex isn’t thanks because I don’t do it with you like some sort of obligation.  Nobody has ever treated me unconditionally like you have.  Christ, you let me use your car and live here for nothing, letting me save my money and all the while I make you feel guilty like you’re cheating on your wife’s memory or something.  You deserve a lot more than a runt like me in your life but I thank my lucky stars you were the one I met at the beach that day.”

I was speechless for a few moments.  She was sincere—I could see that clearly—which choked me up and left me unable to tell her how much I needed someone like her in my lonely life.  I never thought however that if I ever met a good woman and let her into my life she would look like an eight year old!  I didn’t blame Mrs. Cravitz for her outrage since it was easy to misconstrue what was happening within these four walls.

I was finally going to say something but by that time she’d cuddled up next to me and kissed me.  The only thing I got to ‘say’ was spoken by my erect cock.  When she suddenly straddled me I stopped her since no protection was near.  She laughed and uttered “Oops” though I doubted she hadn’t thought of one.

“Let’s soak for a while and then if you’re still in the mood we’ll get into bed.”

“Oh, Marty,” she said with a sly grin on her cherubic face, “I’ll be in the mood, no matter what.”

“That’s right,” I countered and laughed, “I forgot that you’re a nymphomaniac around old men like me.”

“You’re not old, and even if you were there isn’t anyone like you.”

I was floored by the way she looked at me.  Never mind her size and all that.  How could someone her age know what love is?  Granted, she hadn’t used the word, but the look on her face said it.  What I thought of as a young woman’s idea of a thank you really was more than that, although why would probably remain a mystery.  I had the feeling that my late wife was looking down at me and playing a guardian angel’s game of matchmaking.

I carried the giggling paradox of girl-woman to my bedroom.  After the condom was suitably unrolled upon my swollen member Bubbles declared that she wanted to be on top.  “I like to watch you watch me… does that make sense?”

“I think it does, but why don’t you sit on my face first.  I don’t think I’ll wilt in the meantime.”

She laughed and did just that, settling onto my jutting tongue.  She wiggled and then squealed in delight before she unleashed some natural lubrication that coated my lips and chin.  She was delicious, and when I told her so she screwed up her face in mock disgust before giggling heartily again.

True to my word (and my desire) I hadn’t wilted.  She lowered herself gingerly onto my shaft as I lay back and watched her as she knew I would.  I experienced another shiver of unreality looking at this flat-chested, super-petite girl beginning to rise and fall, enveloping my cock in her silken vise of a vagina.  I thought about my nymphomaniac comment earlier in the hot tub since it didn’t take her long at all to climax.  Perhaps her size and subsequent tightness worked both ways.

“Bubbles… I’m cumming,” I groaned.

She practically jumped off me and shouted, “I wanna see it,” managing to rip the condom off milliseconds before I shot several ropes of semen into the air like a creamy fountain.  I hit everywhere: my belly, her chest, one of her legs, and even some in her hair.  She yelped with glee at the spectacle.

“See, you’re not an old man.  Old men don’t cum like that.”

“And how do you know?” I asked with mock seriousness that I knew she’d find humorous.

With a higher-pitched squeaky voice she answered, “Oh Daddy, I just read about it… I’m not that kinda girl.”

“Jesus… ‘Daddy’?  Now that’s the surest way to deflate me right after making me feel young again.”

Ignoring the semen that covered us both, she fell into my arms and we long and passionately kissed again.  I knew then that no matter how she would eventually feel about me, this girl was a keeper.  She was right earlier; I did deserve to have someone like her in my life.  Beth would understand.

We showered, got dressed and went out to a local restaurant.  I’d comically suggested pizza and her reaction was equally comical.  No, we went to a steakhouse that was a favorite of mine.  She certainly was way older than she looked but that still didn’t put her old enough to drink so only I had a beer with dinner.  For such a petite young woman she sure could wolf down food.  I joked that she should take the time to enjoy it, and she replied between mouthfuls that she was enjoying it and then whispered across the table, “Like sex”

Upon leaving we ran into an old acquaintance of mine who right off said, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

I explained that Bubbles was a “friend” and I saw the same expression on his face that I’d seen on the faces of the detectives and Mrs. Cravitz.  As long as Bubbles was with me I would have to get used to that look.

____

 

I didn’t fool myself into thinking Bubbles and I would have a long-term relationship.  In the meantime, though, I knew I loved her.  I knew she’d one day ruin the hot tub with too much bubble bath stuff.  I knew one day she’d put a dent in my car.  I knew one day she’d leave and break my heart.  None of that mattered.

I also knew that we’d need more condoms.  The little minx sure loved sex and I loved my newfound youth.

 

 

Donna M.

 

© 2016

 

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