When she came home I met her in the kitchen for our daily hug. She was wearing a tight blue t-shirt and white khaki shorts. She smiled and put her bag...down as I walked towards her. "Hey babe." "Hey," I replied, and then my arms were around her. I hugged around her back and pushed my chest into her breasts. My feet moved in close so that I could press my cock between her legs. I expected her to pull back, but she did not. Our crotches remained snug together. "Ohh, thanks," she murmured. "I need. Not addicted, not shooting smack or anything as bad as that, not more than what is now termed recreational use, and it was only occasional. The trouble was, Steve would go through cycles of depression, not surprisingly, today she would be called bi-polar, and when she was down, what she needed was to get right out of it, and spent a night in the rush of speed or the wildness of acid, this wold generally send her back on the upswing again. Apart from that, if sleep was unobtainable, or just. More

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