It is impossible for me to describe the state of ecstatic anticipation that engulfed me as I waited for Lynda to have her first taste of me.
That night, as she fixed and ate a salad, I watched from the kitchen counter in her tiny apartment and wished that she were putting ME in her mouth instead of the lettuce. Each time her plump, ruby lips parted, admitting another green forkful, I quivered with excitement in my wrapper, barely able to hold back from crying out for immediate consummation.
It only intensified my arousal that she had not hidden me away as I had expected, but instead had put me right out on the counter. Instead of whiling away the time in a dark cupboard, having to content myself with listening for her voice and movements, I was out in the open, able to see everything,
