The remainder she hung on a hook. Vickie was now naked just like me. I moved towards her, letting her know it was time. She put her arms around me and we started kissing. It didn't take long and our tongues were twisting and turning in each other's mouths. Vickie's hand cupped my tit, gently squeezing. I liked what she was doing. It was the thoughts of her wanting me, not the feelings of her hand. Her desire to have me must have intensified, she was kissing me more deeply. Her hand was cupping my mons and her fingers were now pressing hard against my labia. I moaned, I too was feeling more desires. I wanted Vickie to be more aggressive at her love making. I spread my legs a little wider and her middle finger slipped through my labia and into my pussy. "You have me very turned on and wet. What do we do now?" I asked her." "Vickie responded by breaking our kiss and moving me over to the bench. She maneuvered me and forced me to sit down. I was sitting on the clothes she was buying, but. I remembered my father preaching many similar things, trying to push his religious beliefs on me and my sister, and the way I had just silently accepted everything he said whereas my sister had fought hard to be allowed to think for herself. But those were bad memories, memories that had no place right there and right then. ‘My father was, or at least very nearly was, a closet drunkard, always needing just a few shots of whiskey to reach a state of calm when he came home from work late in the evenings. It’s still strikes me as one of those strange, illogical things, my mother preaching about the sins of drinking, smoking, fornicating, and my father hitting the bottle just as soon as he got home, my mother saying nothing to him about his ‘inappropriate behavior’. Sometimes I wonder how hard she had to bite her tongue on those days when my father had just a few glasses more than he usually did, when she had to help him as he took decidedly staggering, swaying steps upstairs a few hours.
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