I was also shocked to find how completely impressionable they seemed to have become. Wherever my probing fingers touched her breasts, they left behind...a visible trace of the sort left when skin has been slapped. Thus, when I palpated her hanging breasts and molded them with my hands, their surface became mottled. On the other hand, even though their time under the brush had left Mary’s breasts extremely tender, it was clear that their tenderness was of a nature which made them more, not less,. I watch him as we walk. His chest rises and falls with slow, relaxed breaths. His face easily smiles as he takes in the sights around him. My smile comes easily too. My freed breasts bounce a little as I walk, but I don't care. My feet crunch the occasional leaves underfoot. My fingers graze the different textures of bark as we pass the trees. I finally understand the phrase, "Take the time to smell the roses." Then, my breath catches in my throat at first glimpse of the waterfall. He stops us. More

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