The first time I tasted you, you smelled like spring. Blushing, staring into my eyes you said: -- Do me first, I’ll do you next. Lifting your dress, I hesitated letting fractions of time pass me by, knowing we weren’t alone. In a neighbouring room with the TV on low, your parents were home. Like a stranger I let your hands guide me, tracing fingers along your inner thigh. Your skin, skittish under my touch; your sighs, so...