I saw Kirsten at breakfast and there was something magical about her today. A look about her, her skin had a texture, a tone that glowed. Kirsten was ...appy!During breakfast she gave me a sly smile. Her foot touched mine as her lips curled in a mischievous smile."Toast" she asked and when she passed it her finger tips touched mine, paused with our finger's touching, her eyes on mine. It was mystical, the mere touch of her finger, she touched me then that killer smile.As I ate, I looked at her in. ”“Luke” I replied as I returned the hand shake, my cigarette in my mouth. “You can tell mommy that we aren’t strangers anymore.”“You normally just approach guys and asks for rides?” “Only the cute ones” she winked as she took a long drag of her cigarette. I couldn’t help but laugh. “So gonna take me for a spin?”“Sure why not” I replied as I got off my car and stubbed out my cigarette.We both got in the car and pulled out of the mall parking lot. “She’s got a nice purr to her” Rayne said as she. If anything, their attempts to alienate me had mostly the opposite effect, actually stimulating many of the younger reporters to make my acquaintance, which knowing the conservative reputation of the Times, they would likely have not, otherwise. One of these younger reporters moonlighted periodically for The Beat magazine, probably just using the side-job as an excuse to hang out with jazz musicians downtown. Pete Elliot, writer and jazz enthusiast became my best friend at the paper, and often. I wanted to enter her, but I hesitated and moved my hands back up her body, undoing her bra to feel the skin of both breasts on my hands. By now I could smell her excitement. I could feel my hard cock under her body as she moved. I wanted to be inside her, to feel the wet chamber engulf me. For the second time that evening I acted against my better judgement. On that bench, in a public park that could be viewed by dozens of people, and was on the route home for many others returning home from.