" So he's twenty-six," Alice chirped, practically an old man." Twenty-seven," Ronnie said, correcting her. "And then he checks out the fuck-me dress I...m wearin' and says, 'Your parents let you out dressed like that?"Alice laughed, for it was an all too familiar story she'd heard from her own parents. "What'd the dress look like, Ronnie?" The top showed off my tits and the bottom barely covered my ass--that kind of dress. I wanted Carson to jump my bones as soon as I walked in the door." But you. I love to wear mini skirts that show off my long slender legs and firm, muscular thighs, with nothing on under them except for a skimpy g-string. I love to wear thin cotton blouses open to show a lot of cleavage. I never wear a bra. I haven’t worn a bra since my titties became big enough and firm enough to fill my blouses out without help. My mother, a very sexy lady in her own right, always told me as I was growing up, “if you have it, flaunt it,” and at forty, I still had it. People that. Her voice was very dynamic and sexy. She complimented my voice many times. She lived in Andhra and I used to work in Bangalore.Once, I invited her to Bangalore. She agreed to come but she did not commit a date. I did not have any intention to have sex with her. I used to treat her like a friend. I never crossed my limits in the phone conversations that we had. Finally, she gave a date to visit Bangalore. I have a flat, a byke in Bangalore and living alone. I asked whether she was ok to stay in. I could feel that the hot guy was looking at me. I didn't look at him in the beginning. But after a few moments, I really wanted to look into his eyes and gave a look to him.His look was piercing through my eyes. I could look into it the whole day. He shook hands with me. His hand was strong and soft at the same time. I didn't feel like letting go of his hand but I knew I had to. His name was Wasim. He had a deep voice. "I've heard many stories about this hot chick in college. But now I know.
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