I reminded her that it was getting late.She said, "I know. Darn it. Oh, my aching back. Your hands feel nice."I leaned into her from behind, lowering my head to snuggle my nose in her hair, and reached around to cup her breasts over her dress. With her eyes closed she smiled and pressed her hands into mine. She sighed again. "Mmm, hon. I guess it's time to wrap this up. Let me get up and turn the lights off."She walked across the room and flipped the light switch. "You'll have to get on that bus before eight thirty." I know," I said.She returned to the desk and started piling the books together. "They'd kill you and me both if you got home too late." They really just want to kill me anyway." Now, now."Sitting in the chair near her sofa, I stretched sleepily. "It feels that way sometimes. Like they were trying to smother me."She walked toward the bathroom, which was just inside the bedroom. "Oh, Speedy, they just want you to be like everyone else. Everyone wants that" She turned off. Please feel free to contribute, thanks!)********If you didn’t know her, your first impression of Sonya would be that she’d descended from a long and particularly prestigious line of varsity cheerleaders. Tanned, blonde, and sporty—she struck that perfect balance between fit and curvy. But she didn’t get her figure from shaking pom-poms at some football game, no sir. She got it from fencing. From stabbing people, competitively. She had a gift for it.That’s how we first met, actually—she joined the university fencing team with me during our second year of college after transferring from overseas. The guys and the girls competed separately but trained together, and I’m happy to say that I fell in love the very first time Sonya jabbed her foil into my breastbone. She beat me without giving up a single point, then tore off her mask and shook out her long, wavy hair.“You’re really good,” she said, further charming me with her adorable Australian accent.I was still trying to figure out how.
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