Not in the way he noticed everything. Not in the way he mixed impishness with a serious core. I suspected he could do things to me that no other guy could. That excited me. That scared me. What was I getting myself into?We hadn't even gone on a real date yet! Just a season's worth of hockey games and post-game parties with really no time alone together.Except for two minutes.And then there was that. When we'd made the bet, I'd expected something where I would have to please or pleasure him. Instead, he'd made me remain completely passive while he touched me. I didn't "do" anything. I'd loved it, and I didn't know what to think about it.Mom had always raised me and my sister Vickie to be strong independent women. She'd caught the edges of the feminist movement in the 70's and probably would have gone into politics herself if not for us. She'd been torn between her ideals and her strong sense that she needed to stay home to raise us. Her compromise was to teach her daughters her ideals. She had been unable to keep her fingers still and out of her pants, from masturbating in bed over barely making it to the shower before she masturbated again to staying horny and naughty throughout the whole workday, stealing frequent bathroom breaks from her employer to take care of herself.Those days had been infrequent, welcome but embarrassing exceptions to her focused and disciplined lifestyle.Since the collapse they had turned into a much more frequent occurrence, hitting her as much as every other day. Good thing other people had become as rare as annoying meetings and bosses appearing unannounced to talk at length about something she neither understood nor cared about.No policeman would stop to arrest her for public indecency if she failed to restrain herself while crossing the street, and no one complained if she tested the grocery store’s hairbrushes there and then.And not a single person in the old factory they had taken over would mind if she walked up to them and started.
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