They were ordinary, functional pink cotton ones, quite large, the sort of thing that had been keeping her bits secure for years. I put them to my nose...and breathed in the scent of her pussy - a word I felt she would never use – and the faintest trace of a stray drop of piss. I searched the rear area for a trace of her arse, but found none.“God,” she said. “You are so naughty.”She unzipped her dress down the front and wriggled out of it, then turned so I could unhook her bra, and her lovely. I could literally list a thousandthings.None of these are by themselves important enough to make the experience anydifferent from the intense masturbation fantasy. But the confluenceconspires to give it a REALITY and a PRESENCE which grounds the experience asbeing in the same universe as boring, ordinary reality, like standing next to atelephone pole with rusty staples in it while waiting for the light to changeso you can cross the street, looking at an old car in the parking lot andnoticing. More

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