She was dressed in an emerald colored gown covered in rhinestones. On her hands were at least a dozen rings. Her neck was adorned with a silver necklace and with the pendant of a crescent moon. Ruby earrings hung from her lobes, and a turban with a star in the center was wrapped about her head. Our paths had crossed months ago... ... She had been on her way home, pulling a small hand cart with a couple bags of groceries in it. She was dressed then as she was now. I was at that time across the street from her when two teenage punks came upon her. They were demanding her money, and if not her money then the jewels on her neck. It was obviously costume jewelry, for if even one of the jewels had been real, she would have no need to cart her own groceries.She fended them off fairly well on her own until one got behind her and held her by her arms. The other attempted to rip the necklace from around her neck. That was when I intervened.I'm not any type of hero, I wasn't then and I'm not. Sort of has to involve ... well ... sex.But I was still delusional about that. I kept thinking I could mediate things ... slow things down ... control the situation.And, since in the weeks after that, all she did was get me alone to give me those toe-curling kisses every once in a while, I thought I was in control.True, those kisses now involved her rubbing her loins against mine while she kissed me, but that’s just instinct, right? She knew that it felt good to have her pussy rubbed ... so she rubbed against me. That urge to masturbate when they’re very little doesn’t just go away, after all.And yes, there was more than once when one of those kisses was a good night kiss, with her in her jammies, which meant no bra, and that almost always meant she moved my hands under her shirt so I could squeeze and roll her nipples while she tried to push her tongue down my throat.But then she’d just breathe in my ear that she was going to go rub her pussy until she came, and would be thinking.
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