She seemed to want a response of sorts,so I turned altogether around, stared at her bare, moist slit, andresumed smooching it. This time steadfastly ...tared into her eyes. Isuppose I began to look wistful, because she asked, "Are you sad,sweetie? Don't you love kissing my pussy the way girls do? Don't youlove being a girl? Or even now, don't you think that's what you are?"She paused, looking down into my eyes. I'm not sure what she saw there,but she added in a level voice, it seemed with a. She suppressed her ‘teacher’ mind to keep from yelling at the kids. It was Saturday, she was not enforcing any rules on anyone if she could help it. But in her heart, there was a moment of jealousy. ‘What would it be like to be touched by someone else?’ She wondered passing a teen couple holding hands, shyly looking at the other and then the guy stole a rather deep kiss from his girlfriend. It struck her as an odd thought that needed clarification. Certainly she had been ‘touched’: hugs, pats. More

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