Her lips touched mine. They weren’t pressed against, nor pushed. They simply touched. The soft warm flesh. I twisted around to face her. My right ar... rested now on her left leg. We faced each other. Our eyes locked. Her lips touched mine once again, or was it more. I think maybe that it was more. Her lips were pressed against mine. It lingered, and as she pulled away, her lips began to open. They spread as saliva tipped them off. Kiss after kiss. Wet lips made wetter be her tongue slipping in. I managed to copy her dress by buying a denim mini skirt, high heeled mules and a white vest. Under them I wore tiny white cotton panties and a padded white bra. I would hide these under my wardrobe by removing a wooden panel and would parade around the house in them when Mum worked the night shift or during the day when I locked the doors knowing I wouldn’t be disturbed.As I’d never known my Dad since birth I had grown up fast fending for myself and was a good cook. Mum had met a fit, muscular. More

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