Once he got inthe car, I realized he was just a boy maybe nineteen years old. Upclose he reminded me of one of those male models I see in themagazines... We had a long way to go and filled the time by talking. Hisname was Billy. I loved the woodsy accent of his voice. He used itquietly, shyly, never realizing his staggered words were making mequiver. He confessed that he'd lost his job and his girlfriend within aweek of each other. With nothing holding him there, he had gone lookingfor something. Our gossamer undergarments displayed, rather than hid, our most intimate features. We were the essence of depraved sexuality and our fellow guest reacted instinctively, drawn to us as moths to a flame. We mingled, welcoming rather than repulsing, the casual brush of fingers over our bared flesh, the even bolder touch of hands upon our breasts, our thighs, our bottoms, our mons, touches that grew brash with our encouragement. It was the perfect night, trailing in the wake of her magnificence,. More

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