GOOD GIRLS AND BAD GIRLS: PART 1
I suppose I was naive. I used to think there were good girls and there bad girls. The good girls were those I saw in church on Sunday morning, kneeling to pray - the bad girls were those I saw at the basketball court on Wednesday night after practice. The girls who used to disappear round the back of the clubhouse with the players: and then come out clutching their panties in their hand.
Although, since I first had sex, I'm not sure any more about who are the good girls and who are the bad girls. I still go to church regularly, and I still confess my sins to the young priest on Friday evening at confession. But I increasingly enjoy sex as well, and when my lover has his hand on my puki he always whispers to me that I'm a good girl. I certainly don't feel like a bad girl when I have sex. It feels lovely, and seems like the most normal thing in the world.
Anyway, I don't know whether I told you, but I have a new lover now. He's a lot older than me. I met him a couple of years ago when I started work at the department store. He was in charge of the ladies apparel section where I work, and I think he had already been there many years. But I didn't take very much notice of him at first, and I certainly didn't think he was interested in me. In fact, it wasn't until my boyfriend came to see me at work, and the boss spotted him chatting me up that he began to take an interest. Perhaps it aroused his jealousy.
Anyway, about a week ago he asked me if I would go away with him to help him do "stocktaking" at another store on the island. I suspected that this was probably just an excuse to get me to a hotel on my own. In fact, on the drive there I half expected him to try to have me straight away in the back of his SUV. In a hot country like ours, the back on an air-conditioned SUV is a popular place to have sex. But he was a gentleman, and he didn't try anything. And when we got to the hotel where we had to stay overnight, he even booked us into two separate rooms.
I began to think that perhaps I had misunderstood him. That this might indeed be just a work trip. And I suppose I couldn't help feeling disappointed. I had already been rubbing myself at the thought that I was going to have sex. But I needn't to have worried, because at about 10pm there was a quiet knock on the bedroom door, and there was my "sir" with some food and a drink on a tray.
At first the conversation was innocent enough, but after a while he started to ask me about my private life: whether I still had a boyfriend, how I liked to spend my evenings, that kind of thing. The question I could feel he wanted to really ask me was whether I had ever had sex or not. But then he changed the subject and told me he had separated from his wife, and I began to feel sorry for him when he told me she had been unfaithful to him.
I touched his hand, and that was enough to start us on the road to having sex. I came and sat on his knee in front of the dressing table mirror, and I couldn't help noticing his cock stiffening in his pants as he stroked my hair and nuzzled into my neck. I felt his right hand going down between my legs, and when he brought it out and held my head to kiss me, I could feel the wetness (my wetness) on his fingertips, and could smell my puki juices on his hands.
TO BE CONTINUED.