Just to prolong this mild body contact was reason enough. Frans dress had ridden more than half-way up her thigh and I wondered if I should try to rearrange it myself or wake her up. But she seemed so peaceful I just decided to enjoy the show. So stare I did. What are you staring at? she demanded, suddenly awake. She tugged at the hem of her dress, trying to cover herself. It reminded me of her days as a modest teen. She seemed quite agitated. Oh, no, I thought, my worst fears are coming true. I… I… nothing… I stammered. Jon, I saw you staring at me. What on earth could you have been thinking of? I could just see myself taking this cab right back to spend the night at the train station. The driver sensed disharmony and sped to the apartment. Fran got out and stomped her way inside as I paid the fare and reluctantly followed. I felt like a puppy who had just chewed up the masters slippers and was waiting for the rolled-up newspaper. Fran was waiting by the elevator, tapping her foot,. I knew, however, that he wanted more than that. I slipped out of my dress and took one of myself in my bra and panties. I felt like some kind of pervert. But I was having fun. I took off my bra and cupped my breasts in my hands, thinking of him seeing me like this. I could feel the familiar ache of excitement in my pussy. The last photo was of me on the bed, wide open, showing him everything I had. I had to use my vibrator. A couple of times.The photo I sent him only showed my face. He said he thought I was beautiful. I didn't really believe him but there was a little spark of hope that seemed to grow stronger every day. I'd look at the photo of him lying on his side on a bed, smiling into the camera as if looking into my eyes, his penis and balls dangling against his thigh, and try to imagine what it would be like to be with him. He asked me if I had any special fantasies. After sharing a couple of rather tame ideas, and with some prodding from him, I confessed that I'd never been.
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