I moved in on him and pressed the front of my skirt against his face, the scent from my perfume and the smell of expensive couture exuding from me. ''...ut your hands up my skirt and describe what you feel,'' I whispered. He knew he was on probation and yet I was allowing him to explore me, to do what I knew he had drement of doing from the beginning. His hands slithered up the sides of my legs and under the hemline of my skirt into the warm, dark recess of my femininity.''Well?'' I demanded. ''I. My thanks as always go to SouthPacific for his editing. ******* I still remembered the day I first noticed the girl, in my first week at college. Dianne Barrett was her equal in my old high school: she could be alone when she started walking along a corridor, but would always have someone magnetically attached by the time she had got to the other end. Sadly, being a geek meant that I was also relegated to being a people watcher – please read watcher, and not stalker. Dianne Barrett was well. More

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