As she poured I could not help but to stare. Her breasts were not large but absolutely beautiful. Firm and perky, with nice little areoles and nipples...the size of pencil erasers. When she returned from replacing the liqueur from the bar her robe flowed out behind her giving me a full look at her negligee. Again I could not help myself, but this time I stared with my jaw hitting the floor.She said “you must have a lot of girl friends, as hard working and good looking as you are.”I told her that. " No, I didn't mean bad funny," I said. And I didn't. As his fingers lightly grazed the scars, my stomach was doing flip-flops like you wouldn't believe. Because he was-- caressing me, is the only word I could come up with. He was caressing my scars. Like you'd caress a dimple or something.It is hard to describe how I felt right then. Content, warm, loved-hell, I was verging on euphoric. Talk about feeling accepted. I knew he didn't mind the scars. Didn't mind! He was touching them! I was a. More

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