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O. after Id partaken in pizza and dr. peppers with my girlfriends. It had been spurr of the moment. We werent even supposed to see each other that much, if at all, what with my mother being so insistent that 28 was much too old for me with only my 17 years of life. You set me down gently on a fuzzy brown loveseat, taking several moments to gaze at the prize you worked so hard to win. You had romanced me with caring talk and small gestures, little caresses across my arms or the clap of a hand upon my shoulder. A thoughtful chocolate bar that youd procured while at the store for cigarettes or a can of pop. We had been friends. Eventually it was only natural that the friendship would get set on fire and become this animalistic need that we had for each other. My breathing was already heavy, coming in irregular spurts and leaving in great huffs as you ran your fingers teasingly across my sensitive, denim clad thighs. My inner muscles tighten in anticipation for what will happen soon and. She watched them as they approached her. Both had great bodies, muscled from daily manual labor, slightly sweaty and a bit dirty, both in faded jeans and work boots.The driver had sandy blonde hair that had obviously been bleached by the sun. The passenger had dark hair, almost black. Both had tattoos, not scary prison-looking tattoos, but professional ink. They introduced themselves. Brad was the sandy blonde with a marine corps tattoo over his heart and Sempre Fi and a bulldog on his right bicep and Mike was the tall dark one with the tribal sleeve tat on his left arm. She gave them her name and explained that the jackass at the tire shop must have used a pneumatic drill when he put the lugs on because she couldn't budge them. Her throat was dry, but she doubted it was just from the heat. These two were hot and she couldn't deny how thick the air became when they were all standing close discussing her flat tire. Brad offered for her to go sit in his truck while he and Mike changed.
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