my memories are considered confidential gems. Those coveted jewels are hidden deep beneath the dusty cobwebs of my mind.
Heavy doses of guilty sexual pleasures surrounded me like d elicious bubbles in a crystal champagne glass. My enchanting evening with Lane had recharged my low energy batteries and brightened my slightly dimming inner spark. The incandescent night in question was exceptionally dazzling. That magnificent evening will lavishly linger in the memory banks of my vagina forever.
In a flash, Lane rescued my dormant girl-thunder from the boring grip of an endless string of mashed potato and gravy internet dates. I had been through a total man-circus of disappointing first dates from an online matchmaking site. Months had blown by since I was even grazed with an icky good night kiss from some random generic suitor. Lane was the breath of sweet pheromone air that I was secretly yearning for. Falling asleep the night before our date was impossible. The thought of Lane’s fingers pressing into my pale bare skin kept me awake tying knots in my sheets all night long.
The evening in question started out with me racing over to Lane’s like I was in the outside lane of the Daytona 500—with fire nipping at my wheels. I was buzzing with a nervous sense of sexual anticipation about the evening awaiting me. Coming to fruition and tingling all around me was my delectable chance to be not so innocent with him. I wanted so badly to be outrageously sinful with him. I could hardly stand myself and my wicked thoughts for one more second. The realization of being alone after dark with Lane was making my lace panties wet as I furiously turned into his hidden tropical enclave.
I walked up to the front door of Lane's beachfront hideaway wearing a leather mini skirt and a tight, low cut top that my overly augmented boobs were oozing out of. My porn-star inspired eye makeup was heavy, dark and smoky. A vibrantly juicy and just bitten, cherry red color was shimmering on my pouty lips. It took me a pretty big chunk of time to perfectly engineer my come-and-get-me, rocker look. I teased my long blond hair to the outer limits of infinity with a steel bucket of glitter hairspray. For a thirty-something girl, that outfit made me imagine, if only for a second, that I was in my early twenties once again. I had a freshly baked cupcake with a strawberry frosting glow about me.
It was my first time ever wearing fishnet stockings. I think sliding them on was the trickiest part, but as soon as they were on—it was magic. I morphed from being an average gal, straight into a pure sex goddess. Instantly, the risqué stockings made me sexier than a French courtesan surrounded by adoring, high powered Renaissance men. I felt elegant in a very trashy and yet exquisite way. I must confess that it made my insides jump for joy to look like a two-bit tart! Earlier in the evening, as I ran out of my front door, I must have accidentally knocked off my gold halo and crushed it with my spiked heels. Right then and there, I discovered that being dirty was my delicious new wonderful.
Lane’s stunned look was all over his face as soon as he opened the door. He pushed his hair away from his brow and gently bit his lower lip. I knew at that moment that I had his non-verbal seal of approval. I don't think that he could have imagined me squeezing into such an overtly sexual get up. I had worn such a tame outfit on our first date. Lane's “nice girl” perception of me was banished forever—wiped away the second he sized me up. Lane gave me a lusty gaze and said, "Lexie, you look bewitchingly beautiful!" Lane's words tickled my ear lobes and gave me a license to unleash my very sequestered raunchy side!
From the moment I slipped into the body-hugging seats of Lane's racy car, I began to purr. It was captivating and I wanted to relish every second of it. My heart was soaring. I was on the verge of bursting into a million tiny elated pieces. I intensely
Heavy doses of guilty sexual pleasures surrounded me like d elicious bubbles in a crystal champagne glass. My enchanting evening with Lane had recharged my low energy batteries and brightened my slightly dimming inner spark. The incandescent night in question was exceptionally dazzling. That magnificent evening will lavishly linger in the memory banks of my vagina forever.
In a flash, Lane rescued my dormant girl-thunder from the boring grip of an endless string of mashed potato and gravy internet dates. I had been through a total man-circus of disappointing first dates from an online matchmaking site. Months had blown by since I was even grazed with an icky good night kiss from some random generic suitor. Lane was the breath of sweet pheromone air that I was secretly yearning for. Falling asleep the night before our date was impossible. The thought of Lane’s fingers pressing into my pale bare skin kept me awake tying knots in my sheets all night long.
The evening in question started out with me racing over to Lane’s like I was in the outside lane of the Daytona 500—with fire nipping at my wheels. I was buzzing with a nervous sense of sexual anticipation about the evening awaiting me. Coming to fruition and tingling all around me was my delectable chance to be not so innocent with him. I wanted so badly to be outrageously sinful with him. I could hardly stand myself and my wicked thoughts for one more second. The realization of being alone after dark with Lane was making my lace panties wet as I furiously turned into his hidden tropical enclave.
I walked up to the front door of Lane's beachfront hideaway wearing a leather mini skirt and a tight, low cut top that my overly augmented boobs were oozing out of. My porn-star inspired eye makeup was heavy, dark and smoky. A vibrantly juicy and just bitten, cherry red color was shimmering on my pouty lips. It took me a pretty big chunk of time to perfectly engineer my come-and-get-me, rocker look. I teased my long blond hair to the outer limits of infinity with a steel bucket of glitter hairspray. For a thirty-something girl, that outfit made me imagine, if only for a second, that I was in my early twenties once again. I had a freshly baked cupcake with a strawberry frosting glow about me.
It was my first time ever wearing fishnet stockings. I think sliding them on was the trickiest part, but as soon as they were on—it was magic. I morphed from being an average gal, straight into a pure sex goddess. Instantly, the risqué stockings made me sexier than a French courtesan surrounded by adoring, high powered Renaissance men. I felt elegant in a very trashy and yet exquisite way. I must confess that it made my insides jump for joy to look like a two-bit tart! Earlier in the evening, as I ran out of my front door, I must have accidentally knocked off my gold halo and crushed it with my spiked heels. Right then and there, I discovered that being dirty was my delicious new wonderful.
Lane’s stunned look was all over his face as soon as he opened the door. He pushed his hair away from his brow and gently bit his lower lip. I knew at that moment that I had his non-verbal seal of approval. I don't think that he could have imagined me squeezing into such an overtly sexual get up. I had worn such a tame outfit on our first date. Lane's “nice girl” perception of me was banished forever—wiped away the second he sized me up. Lane gave me a lusty gaze and said, "Lexie, you look bewitchingly beautiful!" Lane's words tickled my ear lobes and gave me a license to unleash my very sequestered raunchy side!
From the moment I slipped into the body-hugging seats of Lane's racy car, I began to purr. It was captivating and I wanted to relish every second of it. My heart was soaring. I was on the verge of bursting into a million tiny elated pieces. I intensely
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