I could imagine that at any moment the fire alarms and smoke detectors would go off; as I was consumed on the spot in body, mind and soul from the tsunamis of primal lust and heat crashing and surging over my body and into the primordial soup that is now my brain.I momentarily pictured the scene of the fire department captain explaining to his chief: “He just erupted into flames and took out fifteen city blocks in the process; though Miss Jasmine is unharmed in the least…”Miss Jasmine turned her head in my direction yet again, and she winked.She turned slightly one more time and then bent over, adjusting her underpants; touching the silken black laced fabric here, there, and then THERE, snaking her fingers just above the one location I know that drives women into the heights of ecstatic bliss and the depths of Nirvana when pleasured just right by someone…and then the material shifted just enough, deliberately done on her part, to allow me to behold the mysterious depths of her. But after that day I started noticing how Brad always stared at my boobs, how his eyes glued to my cleavage, how sometimes his hand brush against my ass in the kitchen. One day I also felt like someone was at my bedroom door when I was undressing before going to the bed. I quickly opened the door but didn’t find anyone there. Every time I cleaned Brad’s room I found new magazines about dirty mothers, and it made me curious if Brad fantasized about me too. One night Brad and I were watching T.V. he was wearing his regular t shirt and shorts while I was in my knee high night dress with no bra but wearing matching black panties. I was a little tired so I lay down in the couch with my head on one side of the couch and legs stretched all the way to the other side of the couch where Brad was sitting. My feet touched his thighs. I was thinking about some work and closed my eyes while Brad was busy in watching his favorite show. After few minutes I felt Brad’s hand on my feet. I didn’t care.
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