Indian Girlfriend

If men felt even half this much pressure when they had involuntary wood, well, I really felt for them. This was stupid. If I had even half a brain I would turn right around and go up north to find some good mud. It had to be some kind of trick. The major couldn’t possibly want me, not to have sex with him. He was probably going to take advantage and make me a duty body or something. That scene in the office with my ass in the air and his tongue in my pussy, that, well, that was a. . . . Did he want to fuck me or didn’t he? In Row R of the long term parking lot there were thirteen cars. My overactive imagination gave me the eerie feeling that each car belonged to someone in the chain of command. The major lolled against a light post near a red Porsche. I was a vehicular snob of the worst kind. He glanced over at the truck dismissively, then turned around to look out over the runways. Apparently, so was he. I let the truck’s idle dictate the speed and pointed it in his direction. He. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore and the ebbing lap of the receding water made a much nicer music than they would have heard at the dance.They walked up the shore a little ways and then Steve sat on a large rock, pulling Jennifer down on his lap. She turned towards him and their lips met, their arms pulling them into a tight embrace. For ten minutes they sat like that, not moving except their tongues, lost in each other. When they pulled slightly apart, Jennifer said, "I liked that." Me, too," Steve replied, pulling her closer.She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him. His hand worked its way under her jacket and up to cup her left breast through her sweater. Jennifer sucked in her breath. "That feels nice." His hand began to caress and squeeze and the girl wriggled against him and let her own hand slide up his back under his jacket.Steve kissed her again and let his hand unbutton her sweater and the shirt beneath. Warm, firm flesh met his questing.
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