While the rain was hitting the vehicle hard, I tried to come close to her. I started by touching her hand; she did not resist. This only made me bolder. She was wearing a full-length black skirt, white top, and a shawl. From her hand, I moved to her thighs, and started caressing them. We did not speak a word, but my actions continued. She also started feeling aroused with the constant caressing. I took the courage to go near the golden triangle and caress her more. Again, Ann did not defy. She was enjoying it coz she felt cared for and loved.While caressing her pussy from above her skirt, she started closing her eyes. In no time, I was searching for an entrance into her pussy. She cooperated by loosening up her skirt. Covering with her shawl, I started caressing her pussy from on top of her black cotton panty. She was definitely getting more aroused, so was I. I took her hand and guided her to my crotch to make her feel the intensity of my feelings for her. Ann started spreading her. Left more often to my own devices by my relatives on weekends, I searched the downtown movie houses for a potency of experience not found with the Bowery Boys or in Gene Kelly musicals. I would hit the Main Street cinemas as soon as they opened at eleven A.M., my pockets jingling with the movie money with which my relatives bribed me into conformity. They assumed I was watching Abbott and Costello or Johhny Mac Brown and Wild Bill Eliott. Instead, I sat tearfully absorbed in more than a dozen showings of the archly romantic "Cyrano de Bergerac". I was fascinated with the impressionistic Technicolor of "Moulin Rouge"; again and again I watched this moody film, empathizing strongly with Lautrec's pitiful infirmity and isolation.My relatives, staunch stay-at-homes, had no idea these films existed until I told them what I'd seen--and then they seemed bewildered by a boy who would be so magnetically drawn to Bogart's sarcasm, William Holden's cynicism, or Brando's hostility. They were.
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