.. she hadn't even had time to put on a bra.As she drove her mini-van from the house to the gym, she admitted to herself that not wearing a bra wasn't...so bad. The inside of the sweatshirt was soft and fuzzy; it tickled her nipples and made them stand at attention. And her shorts were loose enough that she could let her fingers sneak up her legs and touch herself while she waited at an extra-long traffic light.As she looked down at the two college age boys in the car next to her she wondered if. I wanted her to feel safe in my arms. I wanted her to need me and I wanted her to know that I needed her."I need to call home and let my parents know I survived the weekend," I said.Cynthia lingered, hugging me tighter for a second before dropping to her knees to pull my filthy sweatpants down to my ankles and off. She left the room, presumably to deliver my sweatpants to Margaret, but most likely to give me privacy.I kept the call short, telling Suzanne that I had returned from the wilderness. More

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