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Over my hose, panties and pantyliner, his fingertip draws a line from my clit to my entrance and back, making me feel like I'm grinding on him.… that my pantyliner is overflowing with every touch, slick and slippery from sweat and that clear dew that I sometimes lick off my fingers when I'm in bed with that book, imagining they are not my fingers- He presses two fingers flat against my pussy until I can feel my own pulse pounding in my labia.… and that I'm going to come right here, in this elevator, in front of all these people, at the hands of this complete stranger whom I allowed to m***** me, like I'm one of those desperate and irresistibly desirable women in the novels I read way too often.He pushes his middle finger against my bud, and the heel of his thumb into the hollow of my vagina and I'm imagining us there, in that crowded elevator, him with one hand inconspicuously between my legs from behind, the other hand in his pocket for his own pleasure, me, trapped and helpless. It started with my being afraid of what I would do. Then there was Daniel, he was by my side like a puppy waiting for a treat and I just couldn't respond. We were in the house together for two agonizing days. Both Friday night, then all day Saturday and I did nothing. Now I started to fear that I was slipping backwards, I didn't want that. I wanted to get better, get normal, somehow this was how I was going to do it. He textedDaniel. Did I do something wrong?Me. No sweetie, it's still just me. Doing this, I've scared myself again. I want to, and I'm afraid.Daniel. Of me?That did it, no I am not afraid of my own son, suddenly I knew what I was going to do.Me. No, I am not afraid of you. Pizza again tonight, on real plates, no paper. Tonight.Daniel. You are TFAHe must have caught my drift. Now knowing something was in the works he backed off giving me the breathing room that I desperately needed. He was disappointed at dinner time to see what I was wearing, not the spandex. I smiled.
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