So careful. Her eyes pooled with tears. Where was he when I was eighteen?
In third grade, Heather Anne.
She raised up, opening her lips, and took his head into her mouth, ignoring the wondering gasp from above. She let her tongue slowly swirl around it, then dipped lower, letting him slide into her mouth, inch by lovely inch. He tasted of young male sweat and musk and an undefinable taste that was his alone. When she felt his head nudge the back of his throat, she stopped. She could have deep-throated him, but the experience would have left her raw and sore and less able to enjoy the rest of their time together. So she let his beautiful rod rest comfortably inside her, only bobbing up and down, and made love to him with her tongue. She stroked and caressed him, tickling him from root to
