"I got bored" I said, removing my coat and frisking the back of my hair. "So I thought I'd come to see you" I said, biting the edge of my lip. He knew right then why I was there. "Is this... important?" I asked, looking at the paperwork on his desk. "A moment" he said, a grin bearing. Quickly he shuffled some papers into a briefcase then threw it to the floor. "No, its not" he said, smiling. I sighed, my arms stretched out, I smacked my hands against all the left over paper and pens,. After the goodbyes she rode home and contemplated the discussion earlier of her cooking at home, or lack thereof. No one had said anything with any intention to offend, and yet her thoughts focused on what Anton thought of her, concentrating on his remark about her being the microwave queen. As such she rode a little recklessly. She felt a little sore due to her sore knee, and rode faster, not waiting in spots she should have, thus not riding carefully. Upon the usual spot where she crossed. A soft moan escaped her lips as she reached into my lap and gingerly and tentatively touched my quickly stiffening cock. She looked plaintively into my eyes and asked in a whispered voice, "teach me how". I told her, "Wrap you fingers around it and gently slide the skin up and down. That's what I like". "OK", she said and did exactly as I directed. The sensation was unbelieveable as her small soft hand worked around my cock. I have been with many girls and women over my nearly fifty years,. "I hope so my Deirdre, I hope so."The two former comrades in arms spent a lovely afternoon together. They shopped, they walked, they visited places that had been familiar to them twenty and shook their heads at how Paris had changed and yet remained the same.A little cafe stood where once the Kit Kat Club had been located. Georges ushered the Irishwoman into a chair and ordered for them. They dined on a thick rich stew accompanied by a loaf of hot crusty bread and a hearty red Vin de Bourgogne..
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