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Her nipple was a hard and sharp point in my palm. I squeezed her breast, and her head snapped back toward me. With her eyes still closed, her mouth searched for mine. I kissed her cheek, and her lips moved to mine and sealed against me again, her tongue once again frantically searching for mine. I abandoned her breast just long enough to blindly search for the hem of her babydoll top. I touched her stomach and felt her muscles tense in anticipation as I slowly ascended, now beneath the material, to once again take possession of her soft breast. My hand hefted the small weight of her boob before covering it once again. My fingers rubbed against her swollen nipple, the friction sending needles of pleasure through her, as evidenced by the increased movement of her hips and her leg.I tried pinching her nipple. Her hip released and bumped against me. I pinched again, and her hip bumped me once more. Action, reaction. I knew I wouldn't be able to stand up against too many of her bumps. He tapped me on the shoulder; I turned and was looking right into his gorgeous blue eyes."Hi Anne, I was wondering if you would like to go with me to the dance?"I stood there, stunned. I was getting fairly used to being a girl; even thinking like a girl in most circumstances. This was one bridge that I had not crossed. In my head I was still a man, and here was a young man asking me out on a date, a dance, no less. I almost blurted out, no, then said,"Todd, I'd love to go to the dance with you." Great, that's great, we'll make arrangements soon, "and then he turned and walked down the hall and out of the building."Shit, I hope Anne knows how to dance."I went home, worked out extra hard, had dinner, did my home work, and went to bed. I had a lot on my mind; in bed is where I do my best thinking. Suddenly, Jack burst into my room,"Bobbie Kennedy's been shot."It was June 6, 1968; the presidential campaigns were in full swing, the democrats fighting to see who was going to be their.
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