I went to his house and he greetedme very warmly with a big smile and invited me in. We talked for whatseemed a long time and after a number of drinks...and after swearing himto secrecy I told him my life story. He acted like he was veryinterested in hearing my story and kept urging me to continue telling itto him, though I was not sure at the time what his goal was.At some point he put his hand on my thigh and I was pretty sure wherehis hand was going to go next. Next thing, I knew he had his. Was having my breasts massaged part of what I had agreed to? His hands moved around and up and then down over my breasts again, catching my nipples, making them quiver and bobble about. Was he now doing what I had actually paid for him to do? Had I paid for him to massage my breasts? It seemed to be the awful truth. I felt his hands again, moving more firmly over my nipples. I couldn't think of any other explanation. Another round, another tiny whimper, and his hands were going over my breasts. More

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