I had to touch you, too. I reached into your skirt, covered your hand with mine and buried my longest finger instantly into your pussy. Your skirt fel... open enough for the cab driver to see almost all of your leg. Your skirt only managed to cover our hands. Your mouth was matching the strokes on your clit. I added a second finger to the heat of your cunt and moved in time to this erotic drumbeat. I was somehow able to notice the cab was moving quite slowly and looked up enough to see the cabbie. My own fingers were coated in her self-lubricant. My fingers worked a track between her legs, which only encouraged and affirmed a deep need for more attention. There we were in her kitchen, on a late summer evening, masturbating each other - almost unthinkable and hour ago. But yet, here we were, beyond the threshold where we could stop ourselves. We just wanted “it” so badly. “It” wasn’t a judgement, nor was “it” a commitment. “It” wasn’t a promise either. “It” was being with my best. More

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