“I want to be drunk on the taste of your neck,” he whispered. The elevator had stopped. Three more people got on and he guided her backward into t...e corner, still not letting her turn and see his face. Her fingertips made a light drag over the simmering slit beneath her panties while she felt his voice as if it were still in her ear. The skin across the pulsing vein in her neck remembered the humid brush of his pineapple breath. Her mound began to throb lightly with the warm rush of blood into. He stood there, staring as if he were trying to use X-ray vision or something, and then turned to go back into the house.After breakfast and a few cartoons, the eight year old boy returned to the back yard. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a paper airplane, stuck nose-first in the bushes by the fence. His heart fell when he saw that it was the same one he had thrown an hour before. So, she had rejected his request to talk things over.But wait! Was that purple ink peeking out from under a. More

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