Message-ID: <16015eli$9810042018@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: broker6@ix.netcom.com Subject: Jenny's Dire Circumstance, pt 2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <360F90B8.5BD5@ix.netcom.com> Lightening his touch to feather-light, Rourke continued working the cream into Jenny's scratched lips, occasionally and accidentally slipping too far up so that his greasy fingers slid over her hard little clit. "Mmmmmm" Jenny sighed. Then, as though realizing she had given herself away, she added, "that seems . . . to . . . be really . . . good medicine." Rourke had made up his mind to stop, and was in the act of sending these signals to his muscles when Jenny suddenly went stiff, her breathing stopped, and hips bucked upward in three quick movement. "Oh . . . oohhhhh. Ah! What in the world . . . what was that?" Jenny said through a clenched jaw, her tummy still quaking. Her eyes were wide open, she had a smile on her lips, but concern in her eyes. "Daddy, daddy . . . what happened?" Well, that tears it, Rourke thought. Now, I've done it. My God, you sick sack of shit. My little Jenny just had her first orgasm. On top of that, I gave it to her. And, on top of all that, she doesn't know what it is, and, as bossy as she is, I won't get out of here until I explain it to her. God, he thought, why couldn't we live in a large city where little girls learn this kind of stuff by the time they're ten. Worse than that, what if this gets out, he pondered. At that moment, with a beautiful little pussy pulsing before him, glistening with love juice and creamy antibiotic, all Rourke could see ahead of him was 30 years of hard time in the state pen. And as he suspected, Jenny began asking questions. As best he could using simple terms, Rourke found himself explaining things beyond the perfunctory birds and bees and this is how you make a baby sort of thing. He found himself embroiled in that really neat level of sex -- the orgasm and how it is produced, and how it affects one, and why it does, and how many ways there are to achieve it . . . and on and on and on, and, in the end, Jenny just kept asking questions, all the while her eyes glowing brightly. In his heart, Rourke felt both good and bad about it -- good because Jenny was so animated and alive. This was probably the first real conversations she had had that approached "girl talk." He also felt bad for almost the same reason: He wasn't a girl. He really couldn't "do" girl talk, and even though he was a "dumb man," he knew deep down that one of the things that sustained girls throughout their lives was "girl talk." At last, and reluctantly, Rourke wound down the conversation with an admission that he hated to make. "This isn't right, Jenny . . . it just isn't right . . ." and as he started to add something, Jenny interrupted. "But dad, how can anything that feels so good be so wrong?" Rourke laughed out loud. "Are you laughing at me?" Jenny challenged. "No, baby. Not at you. Kind of with you. It's just that the question you asked is part of an old song title, which doesn't prove anything except that millions of other folks have asked, and will continue to ask the same question." "Well," Jenny said, taking the situation in hand again, "if it's wrong, we just won't do that particular thing anymore . . . yes, that's what we'll do . . . er, not do," she laughed. "Okay," Rourke agreed, getting to his feet. "Where ya goin', dad," Jenny asked. "I thought I'd go see if I can rustle up a nurse somewhere, someone who can come in and do this stuff for us." Jenny's face fell. "Dad!!" she yelped. "What?" "You'll do no such thing. Now . . . now, listen to me before you go off the way you do. A nurse coming here twice a day will cost a fortune. We can do this thing. Honest, we can. We've just talked it over, talked it out. We both know what happened and how it happened. We'll just be more careful." "Jenny . . ." "Nope. Besides, dad, I would feel really, really funny with a stranger doing that do me." Rourke studied Jenny for a moment. Either she was serious, a good liar or he was just hearing what he wanted to hear. Deep, deep down, he wanted it to work. But just as deeply, he knew he wanted to continue stroking that darling little pussy. "We'll see," was all Rourke would say at the moment. He excused himself, saying he was going to get his things and take a shower. Then, he said, he had lots of things to do around the yard, including finishing trimming the tree, chipping the wood, and putting away their tools. "Before you go . . ." Jenny smiled, "Would you at least help me into my robe?" Oh God, Rourke thought. Of course. No hands. I'm going to have to do everything for the next few days . . . things like . . . naw, I don't want to think about it . . . baths, dressing, more wiping. And again, Rourke was saddened because as these thoughts flitted through his mind, his cock began growing again. Damn it! he thought. There ought to be a way to disconnect that thing. But in some deep, hidden recess of his brain, Rourke knew there wasn't . . . and just as deeply, he sensed that he was glad of it. Rourke was bone tired but he forced himself to finish the yard work he and Jenny had started the day before. While he worked, he pondered what suddenly seemed like a very crowded night and morning. Things seemed to have overtaken him . . . and Jenny . . . in ways he never would have thought possible hours earlier. And two more weeks to go. Hmm, can I do it, he wondered. Inside his head, a voice said, Sure you can, Rourke. But in his bones, he wondered. Oh well, it will all be over in two weeks. Besides, that's about when school starts again, Rourke recalled. Somehow, the year seems to settle nicely when school starts. Deep down, he knew why . . . because by then, Jenny will be able to see to her own . . . pussy . . . and other needs, he thought. I wish it were now, he told himself, but while thinking that, he glanced at his watch. It was already 2:30 p.m. Long past lunch time. Jenny must be starving. She can't even get herself a snack. And . . . it must be about time to dress her wounds again, he thought, which caused him to hurry his chores and head for the house. He found Jenny, still in her nighty and robe, half sitting, half laying on the couch. She was sitting in a way that told Rourke she was trying to keep her weight off her injured bottom. She had managed to turn on the television by placing the remote control on the floor and pressing it with her toes. "Hey, sweetheart, you hungry," he asked. Jenny extended a very shapely leg -- another discovery for Rourke -- pointed a toe and snapped off the TV set. "Yes, I am," she said. "I'll call you when it's ready," Rourke said, heading for the kitchen. "Dad . . . ?" Jenny called. "Yes," he said turning to her. "Dad . . . I . . . I need . . . a bath, too," she said. Rourke slumped. Something else, he thought, but caught himself. Hell, he said to himself, I knew this was coming. Oh, well, he thought, resigning himself at last to the job ahead in the next two weeks. Baths, massaging her . . . her pussy . . . okay. I'll get through it. I'll think of something else while I'm doing it. "Okay, one bath coming up. What say we eat first, though, okay?" he said, disappearing into the kitchen. Once again, his old friend. Peter, kept trying to take charge as Rourke fixed lunch and set the table. If it hadn't been for his jeans, his cock would have gotten in the way of everything. It took twice as long to eat because he had to feed Jenny, too. By the time they had finished, Jenny was squirming in her seat. "Dad, can we hurry . . . I have to pee." Rourke threw the rest of the dishes into the sink and followed Jenny upstairs to the bathroom where she turned and faced him, arms slightly out at her sides. At first, Rourke couldn't figure it out. Then, the light went on with a blinding flash. She's waiting for me to undress her. This time, with far less embarrassment than before, Rourke stepped up, helped her out of her robe. then, with her help, he raised her nighty and slid her panties down. As before, the little panty liner surprised him. And, again, he fumbled with the tape trying to remove it without hurting Jenny. And once more, he mumbled something about needing a shave. "That's a great idea, dad," Jenny said as the liner came loose. Rourke nearly fainted away. Not only was he again looking that sweet pink little button right in the eye, his daughter was agreeing that she needed a shave. "We can do it while giving me a bath," and with that, Jenny plopped down on the toilet and let her stream of water into the john. Rourke reacted with a sudden turn of his head. Jenny returned his startled look with a look of, "hey, we're stuck like this for several more days . . . get used to it." So, Rourke busied himself by turning on the water for the bath, and in collecting towels and soap, a razor, bath powder and the cream for her scratched pussy lips. By the time he was finished, Jenny was again standing in the middle of the room, arms over her head, waiting for her father to remove her nighty. Rourke lifted the thin blue nighty at the bottom of its skirt and began raising it over her head. As he did so, his breath caught and his heart came to a full stop. For a moment, he thought his heart was going to blow all its seals. As the nighty came up, Rourke watched Jenny's sweet little "woman's" belly slide into view, followed by her small, dainty waist, and finally her two perfectly formed and cone shaped breasts, each capped with quarter size aureoles and eraser sized nipples. Steam from the gathering bath water and the sight of his daughter -- far sexier than he had dared think -- brought a sheen to his face. Soon, Rourke was dripping with sweat. Jenny noticed and said, "Dad, at least take off your shirt . . . maybe slip into your shorts. It's too hot in here dressed the way you are." "Maybe you're right," he replied and excused himself, adding "Don't try getting in the tub by yourself. Ill be right back." Quickly, Rourke slipped into his room and into a pair of gray flannel workout shorts. Jenny was still standing in the middle of the room when he returned. And with his return, his cock immediately began trying to stand on its own. This time there was not mistaking it. And besides, after the talk he had with Jenny, she was suddenly too wise. "Dad, I'm sorry about that," she said, nodding her head toward the tent in his shorts. "That's okay, baby. Let's just get on with it and pretend it isn't there." "Okay, dad," Jenny said, a faint smile crossing her lips. If she weren't his own daughter, Rourke would have thought she was mocking him, playing with his "situation." "What are we going to do first, shave me?" Jenny asked. "No," Rourke said. "I'll wash you first. That will give your . . . wounds . . . time to soften in the hot water." Rourke helped Jenny into the tub. He lathered a wash cloth and began with her arms, being careful not to wet the bandages encasing her hands. Then, he moved up to her shoulders and across her back, stopping now and then for more soap. Soon enough, her front would come up. He had been putting it off, wondering how he was going to wash her chest without touching her breasts. Once again, he knew this was impossible, but still . . . this was his daughter, and every stroke cleaner she became, the closer he got to losing his resolve. And, with each stroke, he noticed her firm little breasts, with their shiny wet nipples, jiggling like two little cups of Jell-O, soap from her shoulders running down, dripping off her nipples. Rourke was glad he was on his knees and that the lower half of his body was hidden from view because all this stretching to wash Jenny's back had caused his shorts to ride up so that, now, his rigid cock stuck out one of the legs of his skimpy shorts. After nearly scrubbing the hide off Jenny's back, Rourke lathered the wash cloth and haltingly began washing Jenny's chest. He was nearly struck dumb with the firmness of her breasts, and he couldn't help noticing that her nipples responded instantly to his touch. Each stood up like a tiny hard-on, poking into the steam, peeking through the suds dripping form them. Jenny placed her back against the tub in readiness for her father's request for her to raise her legs so he could wash them. When she raised them, Rourke found that he could barely take his eyes off the bright, pink little button winking up at him through the soapy water. Finally, he asked Jenny to stand, and using the bar of soap, he gently lathered her pubic hair. "I'm sorry, hon," he said apologetically, "but you'll have to spread your legs." Jenny complied, taking a side step so Rourke could reach between her legs an soap her pussy lips. Once more, she flinched slightly, and Rourke apologized for hurting her. "Actually, it feels kind of good," Jenny admitted. "I thought it hurt," Rourke commented. "Well, yes . . . but there are good hurts and bad hurts . . . " Jenny said with a smile in her voice. This caused Rourke's cock to grow a little more. As his soapy fingers slipped gently among the folds and hidden places of his daughter's cunny, Rourke felt that he might go crazy. How can I continue, he thought. How can I do this without plunging my cock into her pussy. Rourke pushed away these thoughts as best he could and said, "Now, hold still while I shave you, hon . . . and in a minute, when I start working around those cuts, I'll have to stretch your . . . lips. Let me know if it hurts." Slowly, Rourke began peeling away the fine hair up on her belly, that soft part above her mound. Then, working carefully, he started slicing away the hair directly on her mound, and finally, the razor began slipping down and under, taking off the hair on her cunny lips. As promised, when he reached her tiny stitches, he had to reach in and pull the lips, stretching them so he work up to the stitch, but not so close as to cut it off. He could feel -- sense, really -- that Jenny was kind of holding her breath, kind of holding back, as it were, from the pain that stretching her lips must be causing. "Sorry, darling," he said. "That's okay, dad. It feels funny without my hair down there. What does it look like?" Good grief, thought Rourke. It looks so sexy, so inviting I'm having a hard time keeping my tongue out of that soapy slit. It looks like a pouting, pink-lipped lollipop, something I could suck all night long, that's what it looks like. All this in his head, of course. "It looks fine," Rourke said, trying not to let the pounding of his heart come through his chest and out his vocal chords. Now, to make sure there was no annoying stubble, Rourke soaped his hand again and began running it over Jenny's mound, down between her legs and her cunny folds, searching for those tiny, sharp little hairs that would drive her crazy by morning. Back and forth, slipping and sliding went Rourke's hand until he realized that Jenny was moving her hips in response to his movements. As he pulled forward, she pulled back, and then the reverse. Time and again, that now hard little clitty thumped along the high and low spots of his hand. Not wishing a repeat of this morning -- and fearing the consequences if she fell -- Rourke stopped, satisfied he had nipped every hair that could cause trouble. Then, he told Jenny to turn around while he washed her back. Quickly, his hand found her perfectly heart-shaped ass and in less than a minute, his soapy hand slipped into the crack of her ass. Again, in the tiniest of movements, he was aware that Jenny was leaning into his probing fingers, following them, helping them center on her tiny rosebud center of pleasure. And again, Rourke forced himself to stop, sensing that Jenny would ride his hand to completion, or until he did something he would regret. Besides, after this he was going to have to dress her wounds again with antiseptic cream. Finally, Rourke proclaimed his work done and asked Jenny to rinse and stand, which she did. He helped her from the tub, throwing a large towel over her and began patting her dry. Before he was completely finished, Jenny was edging her way toward the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. "I want to see my new look," she said, striking a pose . . . shoulders back, hips thrust forward, her bald 14-year-old pussy looking tight and fine. The sight caused Rourke to feel that his own orgasm was near, and he was horrified and mortified when he looked down to see that he had neglected to cover his cock which still protruded from the leg of his shorts. Jenny followed his sudden head movement in the mirror, and from her angle, she could see everything. "Dad!" she yelped, snickering a little at the same time. "My God . . . what's that?" Since he had been caught, Rourke made no effort to be quick about covering his cockhead. However, he did go ahead and pull his shorts out and over the head of his raging hard-on. "Well, Jenny . . . we talked about . . . " "I know we talked," Jenny interrupted, but does this happen every time? Do I do this to you???" Rourke knew he had to be careful with his answer. Too much one way would give her the wrong impression that she could do this at will to any man in the world, which she probably could do, but at great peril to herself. Too much the other way would crush her young spirit, the very femininity that one day she would give willingly to a man. Instead, Rourke tried to let it go with a lame excuse about how long it had been since he had been with Jenny's mother. Mixed in were vague things about natural urges. In all, Rourke was not satisfied with his answer. In return, he thought he once again spotted that little Mona Lisa smile he had seen on Jenny's face earlier that day. While Jenny smiled, Rourke gathered up her nighty and a dry towel and the antibiotic cream. "Come on," he said. We have more work to do. Rourke turned toward the john, where Jenny had received her last treatment. Instead, Rourke heard the bathroom door open. When he looked up, Jenny was gone. Rourke chased after her. "Where you goin', darlin'?" he asked. "To my room, if it's okay with you, daddy. That john lid is cold. Wouldn't it be okay if I laid on my bed while you did this?" Rourke acquiesced. Actually, it would be better. Better angle. He wouldn't have to squat. She would be more comfortable. In her room, Jenny flopped down on her bed and, without instruction, spread her legs. It was all Rourke could do to keep his cool. Jenny's shiny pussy and glistening pink parts lay open before him. Trying mightily to avert his eyes, Rourke squeezed creme on his fingers, and gently began applying it to Jenny's razor-slick lips. It wasn't until Rourke had gotten started that he notice Jenny had not covered herself, not even her top. Her perky breasts with their hard nipples pointed at the ceiling, while the cream he worked into the folds of her taut pussy make little smacking sounds beneath his fingers. He sat on the edge of the bed, and again, he noticed that his raging hard on could not be contained. It had again slipped out from beneath the leg of his shorts. Thank goodness, the way he sat at her side, his hard on was not visible to Jenny. At least it was not visible unless she sat straight up and looked for it. Rourke considered shifting his rigid shaft, but to do so would call attention more attention to it, so he left things as they were, concentrating on the now slick as ice pussy folds slipping beneath his fingers. It started as the tiniest of muscle movements, but before long, Jenny was going along with his strokes, gently pushing her pussy up, and drawing it down in opposition to him. They weren't big movement, not the kind you can see from across the room. Just little strokes, barely enough for Rourke to identify. He considered stopping, but two things urged him on: First, the doctor's orders that this be done at least twice a day, and, second, he couldn't stop. This morning, with Herculean effort, he could have stopped. But not now. Not with this ultra slick, super sensitive virgin pussy calling to him, and eager to feel his fingers probing the folds of skin, pushing her fatty tissue, riding up and over that incredibly hard clitty button, Rourke knew that, up to this point in the game, he was trapped. And, frankly, he was quite happy with things just as they were. He had no intention of going farther. Jenny, he thought, might have entertained other ideas, but she was young and impressionable, something that nudged his sense of responsibility greatly. She was, after all, his daughter, and he owed it to her to do no more than this. And that's when it happened. Quite by accident, his slippery fingers -- sliding, slipping, seeking her damaged spots, stopping for a moment, twirling antibiotic creme in all the right places -- one of his fingers slipped into her vagina, into her virgin tunnel of love, into the soul of her sex. By then, she was totally lubricated, and in her youth, her juices flowed so freely that Rourke could tell that not all her slickness was due only to medicated creme. Her love channel was so wet that his finger simply disappeared into her sex, directly behind her pubic bone, not quite an inch away from her swollen clitty. Rourke felt Jenny go tense, and before he could react, or before Jenny could speak, a fierce spasm clutched her body, drawing tight her stomach muscles, while racking spasms fluttered Jenny's pussy muscles on Rourke's cunt-covered finger. It was only her second orgasm, but by anyone's book, it was the kind a girl would remember for the rest of her life. In fact, it was so powerful, Rourke knew he would remember it for the rest of his life, too. Simultaneously, Rourke -- and probably Jenny, too -- knew that things had changed, that their lives had just taken a turn, and that if they were to survive, both had better be wearing their seat belts. Slowly, Jenny's eyes blinked open as if she were trying to rid them of stars and shell bursts. "Daddy . . . daddy . . . what was that . . . ???" "I'm sorry, babe . . . " "Daddy, don't be sorry. Please don't. Can we do it again?" "Oh, princess . . . I don't know. You're . . ." "I'm what, daddy?" "Well, I was going to say you were too young, but that's not true, is it?" Rourke said, gathering himself for what he had to say next. "Princess, this is wrong. You know it, and I know it. If any part of this leaked out, we'd both be . . . " "Oh, daddy! Will you quit! I'm not going to tell, and I know you aren't either. Now listen to me . . . please. I've never felt anything like this before in my life. Well . . ." Jenny hesitated, going back in her mind, "I remember when I used to go bumpity-bumpity down the stairs on my little behind, and I used to think how good it felt when my butt hit the steps if I did it right . . ." Rourke interrupted. "But, baby, we're not going bumpity-bump anymore. This is something else. And what's more, it's leading to a place from which I'm afraid we may never come back." Jenny raised up on her elbows and instinctively reached for her father. But just as quickly, she remembered her hands were still bandaged with only the tiny tips of a few fingers sticking out here and there. As her eyes followed her bandaged hand, and as her hand fell against her father's leg, she glanced into his lap. Suddenly, her eyes flashed wide open. There, sticking out of his sweat-shorts was her father's throbbing cock, pre-cum rolling down the head, trickling down the shaft toward his swollen balls. "Heavens," she gasped. "Is that what was making that big bump in your pants the last couple of days?" she asked. "Baby, you know it is," he said. ''Well, that doesn't seem fair to me . . . me having all the fun while you suffer along with . . . with that." Again, Rourke tried to explain all the problems associated with this kind of activity. It was called incest. Even the name sounds bad and it sounds worse when you say it. It's full of hissing noises. Rourke explained this, and more, trying to talk himself out of it as much as getting Jenny to see the light. But the more he talked the more his cock bounced with every heartbeat, and the more Jenny looked at it. "Oh, daddy," she cooed, "I wish I could touch it." "Damn it, Jenny. You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?" "Oh, daddy, you're such a worry wart . . . but . . . well . . . if you're so dead set against it . . . ." And again, a peculiar little smile played across Jenny's lips. Rourke fell speechless at this. Deep down, he knew everything he told her was right. But somewhere deep within, he thought Jenny would talk him out of it. He thought she was going to press on through youthful exuberance, and that in the end he was going to let her win. But here it was . . . Jenny had agreed with him. The game was over. Guilt gripped Rourke again because he realized he wanted it to continue. He wanted to be talked into it. The thing that made him feel so bad was that he hadn't had the courage to own up to the fact that he wanted his daughter. Slowly, Rourke's cock began deflating. The realization that he had been kidding himself, Jenny agreeing with him . . . his world just took a couple of spins, and it showed in Rourke's cock as well as his face. "Poor daddy," Jenny said, looking from his cock to his face. "I can see this bothers you more than me. I'm sorry, daddy," Jenny said, patting his leg with her mitten sized hand, a sorrowful look in her eyes. Then, eyes brightening, she added, "But I hope this doesn't mean we have to stop treating me . . . I mean, after all, daddy, there is this infection thing. You will continue to treat me, won't you?" Rourke brightened instantly. A reprieve. Keeping his voice as steady as possible, he said, "Of course, angel. We have to take care of you." The next several days passed almost like today, minus the intense orgasms and discussions. During this time, Rourke and Jenny began feeling more comfortable around each other, especially at bath time when Jenny stood naked before her daddy, her sweet little 14-year-old body glistening in the steam from her bath, her bald pussy looking very much the way Rourke remembered it when he used to change her diaper. One evening in the bath, as Rourke was gently washing Jenny's pussy, Jenny said, "Dad, will you check that again. It's really been itchy today." "Sure, honey. Put a foot up on the edge of the tub so I can see." Jenny hiked her foot up and thrust her pelvis forward. Rourke used a washcloth to wipe away the soap. Here he was again, facing this sweet little pussy, this carnal cunt that wanted his cock, this pea-sized pink pearl that wanted to be massaged and sucked, and all he could do was look at it. Stuffing all this, Rourke turned to the task of inspecting Jenny's pussy lips. He let his fingers trace along the puffy parts, paying special attention to the wounded area. Jenny's lips were so soft, yet so elastic. Rourke knew because, although it wasn't necessary, he had taken first one, then the other, between his fingers and gently pulled at them as if this were part of the inspection. And, as usual, being this close to heaven, his cock began to swell. My poor cock, Rourke thought. It has been hard for a week now and all I've gotten from it is my own hand. Rourke was so busy feeling sorry for himself that he almost missed it. Her healing pussy lips, that is. On closer inspection, he saw that one of the small scabs had completely dropped away, and the scab on the other side was ready to go. He gently prodded the lose scab, and it fell away in his hand, leaving a bright pink mark on Jenny's tender pussy lip. "Well . . ." Rourke said, "what have we here." It was a statement rather than a question, and Jenny interpreted it that way. "What is it, dad?" "Baby, it itched because your scabs have come off. The skin underneath is bright and pink. Not a sign of infection. And the stitches have disappeared like Doc said they would," Rourke said. "Well . . . . . " Jenny said, drawing it out, as though she had more to say. "What?" her father inquired. "We're not going to stop my treatments, are we?" Jenny whined. "I mean, it's still tender, and it itches. I really think we should continue until that tube of stuff is gone." "Well, okay, baby. Whatever you think," Rourke said evenly, trying to hide the joy in his voice. Up to now, he had been doing so well, but deep in his heart, he knew what he wanted to do, and he had been dreading the day when Jenny's pussy no longer needed attention. Also, in the last couple of days, he had seen Jenny playing with the bandages on her hands, peeking, and partially unwrapping them. In just a couple more days, she would dispense with the bandages altogether. It wouldn't be long after that that she would be taking care of all this by herself. In his heart, Rourke knew he should just let it go. But at a deeper level, he felt like pressing the attack, like sticking his tongue into that pinkest, sweetest place this side of heaven. He even licked his lips as if making ready. It was almost more than he could bear. Here was his beautiful daughter, her virgin pussy all tight and squeaky clean, already leaking her love juice as it did every time he "treated" her. Her translucent pink pearl of a clit was one tongue-lick away. "Of course we'll continue . . . if that's what you want," Rourke said, his nose so close he could smell the lilac soap and the musky-sweet sex glistening from -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----