I homed in on a fellow, not too tall, but with large, brown, sensitive eyes, wearing a Greenpeace t-shirt and roomy shorts and sandals. He looked to be my type. I slowly moved my position so that my body was facing him, not on a whim, but feeling trim, out on a limb. Then I slowly started spreading my legs to give him and him alone a good shot of my sweet cunny with its triangle of blond hair, so fair and rare. I was a true blonde. As I spread my luscious thighs apart I glanced over under his table and noticed something interesting. His shorts were so roomy one could see up his legs. He wasn't wearing underwear, it wasn't there, his dick was bare. On one side I saw a cock head and it seemed to wink at me, with glee, as if it could see, deep into me. I raised my eyes to his, and he did, indeed wink at me. Then he sucked his finger, held it to the wind, and winked again. He was a charmer, as was I. And he spread his legs to show me his manhood was hard and straining to get out. My. All used to set a mood fit for the situation. It was pretty good writing but not stimulating enough for me. A glaring plot hole, how they managed to get from studying in the library to a fully stocked sex room when neither of them had ever done this sort of thing before, might have had more than a little to do with that. Compounding this was the statement that neither had any idea where the room or equipment had come from. I moved on. The next story was a fantasy I been allowed to print for personal use. Good enough. My breathing deepened and my right hand trailed below the covers. I lightly trailed them over my stomach and touched my thighs in soft strokes. I grazed the sporadically trimmed hair. I dipped down to touch my protruding clitoris and moving back to my thighs. I flipped the page and began to tease my nipples. Lightly pressing and squeezing. I began to breathe faster. By the time the protagonist finally got around to thrusting into his companion I joined in with a.
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