I looked at him desperately. He was so lost, hurting so much and I couldn’t even think of anything to say.*He seemed to struggle to settle down. To ...ind himself. To find a life where he felt he belonged. The drinking stopped. The protests started. A march against tuition fees. A march against income tax increases. A non-specific anti-government march.Sometimes the demonstrations turned violent but he never got arrested. He’d be out picketing every weekend. Police corruption. NHS cuts. Refugee. His hands felt so good exploring the contours of my breasts and nipples. His right arm gently caressed me and lifted the hem of the skirt, until he was able to slide his hand under and discover my naked stomach. He seemed to enjoy running his fingers through my carefully trimmed pubic hair, but that was nothing to sensing his reaction when he put his hand between my legs. He breathed deeply, almost gasping for breath. I think that thrilled me as much as his touch. My lips were engorged and. More

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