"Michelle, have you ever enjoyed sex?" I asked."What's there to enjoy?" she said painfully. "The guy comes in drunk, pushes inside, makes a mess, and he's snoring before you even get a chance to wake up." That's not how it's supposed to be," I suggested."That's how it was with my ex," she grumbled."Did you..." I started, and then stopped to think. I couldn't think of a way to ask without being blunt. I tried again. "Did you ask him to slow down and please you?" Please me how?" she pleaded painfully. "Slow or fast, it would still be disgusting, right?" You could have shown him how you please yourself," I suggested. I tried really hard to keep my tone light and supportive."What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously. I almost thought she thought I was blaming her for something.I tried to come at it from a different direction. "Michelle, do you masturbate?" No!" she cried out. "That's disgusting, too!"She shook her head for a moment and then added, "My mom would kill me if she caught me. The less she knew about him the better. He lied and told her he was from Harar.He decided to encourage the uncharacteristic garrulousness in her that the pheromone induced. “How about you?” he asked back.Unusual exhilaration and a girlish silliness she had buried years ago bubbled to her surface in an odd euphoria that he was interested in her. She opened so much to him, happily providing her entire life history. The moments passed, the more she talked and the more her tales became more uniquely personal, almost intimate.Alison chattered, gazing at her pale reflection in the dark window. The glass pane clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly hot. Without her noticing George inched closer. He comfortably reclined and put his arm around her shoulders, his touch strangely redolent of a first loves.George noted that Alison started to slur her words. Her movements were no longer deliberate. He smiled into her face as he brushed her blond hair aside. His fingers ventured south and.
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