She didn’t move away. She just stopped right there. I breathed deeply and enjoyed her scent. It smelled like flowers or perfume. She moved slightly,...rubbing her pussy against my face ever so subtly. Then she lifted up a little bit and said “wooops! Excuse me.” I said, “Oh, sorry” and moved away from the ladder, allowing her to come down. She picked the new bulb up off the floor, giving me that great double peek at her panties and up her shirt at her heavy swaying breasts. When she stood up this. My hand slides up and down the curvature on the small of her back, riding up and down. I stroke with one finger, two, three. I tickle a little until she gives out a small moan—my cue to resume stroking her. And I do. I try and show her that I adore her with the back of my knuckles as I drag them up and down her spine. With my finger tips as they press into her shoulders. With the whole of my hands as they cup the sides of her neck, or glide along her thighs, or swim though that matted, dark. After their lessons, Paul would make tea and they would eat goat cheese on crackers and Orrin loved listening to the stories Paul told him of his life in Greece and how he learned to play the guitar. He told him how his wife, Elena died when she was young, how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. “She was the love of my life and all the music I have ever written was inspired by her. She was my muse.” One day after a lesson, Paul asked Orrin if he knew the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.. I got put in a cell with a well built Black man. I could tell he was dangerous.He looked at me and said, “Top bunk White punk, up there now, you don't do nothing in this cell unless I tell you you can.” I could tell you don't talk back to a Black man like him. Latter when things were settled down, count was over and some to the lights were off he told me, “A bitch don't sleep in no jumpsuit and to take it off.” He wasn't interested in my comfort he had plan and needed me naked.I would have.
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