They were jealous and made me feel ashamed of them. I love my tits now." She opened the robe at the last breath of this statement and she lifted them...slightly (even though it was not required) with her hands. Her face radiated with joy and the nipples swelled. They were equisite and I leaned forward and kissed each one with the affection one might pay tribute to some religious icon. They were the Tits of Saint Julia. She tossed her head back and laughed. My hand moved like a flash to her. We talked, in muted voices as we did that domestic chore, and I found having her there beside me rather fun, actually. The shared duty seemed to draw us closer. The beautiful woman by my side complimented me by saying, 'You know, it's rather a surprise to see a man doing the dishes. Most men would rather leave this to the women-folk!'I laughed, and then said, 'I hated doing the dishes to begin with, when I first went out on my own. But not having my mother there to do them for me forced me to. More

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