He half sits up, helping me to free himself, and I pull the silk down to his ankles and off, throwing them aside to join my own clothes on the sand. ...gain I straddle him, but he is sitting up now and my knees are wide apart, his hard erection pressing against my belly. His mouth is hot, his breath ragged, and he kisses me roughly my lips, my neck, my breasts. I have to be more forceful now in order to press him back down, but I do so firmly and he complies, groaning and saying my name. Once. The whole experience had cast a long shadow through her adult life since then. Shegave up all stage ambitions immediately, began dressing more conservatively, lived in abject fear of being masturbated over in public. And as her bosom grew over the years, so her complicated love-hate relationship with it intensified. She never saw the man with the straggly yellow hair from the front row again. She hoped he had been locked away for good, the filthy pervert. And any time she ever heard Lullaby of. More

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