. . you were . . .”“I was massaging you, down there, and I made you cum. And I'm sorry, but I thought that it would help. Did it?”“Yyeess, and...noo, that's the problem. That's what I meant, when I said you didn't understand. Why I was so depressed. You don't know what I'm going through.”“Darling, I have lost a husband, and been racked with grief of all kinds, there is little I wouldn't understand. Try me. Communicate, don't keep it bottled up inside. There isn't anything that you can't tell. This conversation is a dead end Donna. You have no right and a lot of nerve asking me to stop dating other people. Until you decide to be exclusive with me, I will continue to enjoy spending time with other girls. That includes Barbara."Donna wasn't happy with my comments and told me so. I believe she was waiting for me to apologize and agree to quit dating others. That wasn't going to happen any time soon. I really liked her but I wasn't going to be her puppet. She left the table in a huff. I. The forest can hear you breathing.' The words were unspoken yet sounded very loud in her thoughts. She made a mental effort to quiet her mind and body, reaching out almost spiritually into the forest. This was but one of the many survival skills she learned over the years. Skills she instinctively relied on, and were as much from the traditions of her Native American heritage as they were from her Army-Ranger training. Pulling a short leather cord from her pocket, she tied her long dark hair in. She was on top and, after penetration, as we often did in memory of the pebble experience, she put her knees back over mine, easing my legs apart so that I could pretend to be the female part of a "missionary" coupling with my knees high and wide, while she did all the pelvic thrusting. She dangled her breasts over my chest so that her ripe nipples tickled my diminutive male ones and I could pretend that they werearoused like hers. Of course the pretence was a hopeless shadow of the.
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