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I turned round and grabbed her left boobShe was writhing and hissing like a snake.By now the passengers in the right seat were taking note and we patiently waited until the break for tea.It was around 5 pm.We got down and I quickly organised a taxi carefully selecting an elderly driver and we were in each other s arms as we were racing towards sunset."Princess the sun set is Grand! Have a look." I said as I was fondling with her boobs.I called Miranmar beach resort and booked the honey moon suite.As darkness set in we locked lips for the first time and it was a hot kiss with tongue probing deep.I manoeuvred my fingers and opened her jeans belly button and by now was gently stroking her pubic hair . The good old ambassador was spacious and soon she got to lie down on my lap and i was fiddling her titties and the her ass and stroking her pubic hair and fondling her boobs . She was half asleep half drowsy enjoying the ride.We reached GOA around 7 PM and drove straight into. I shook my head. She smiled, the most lovely smile. Neither do I, she said. I groaned and kissed her again. She returned it with passion, her hands running through my hair. I walked forward to the sofa and bent over, lowering her to the cushions. She kept her legs around me, though, and as she settled it brought our crotches together. She gasped sharply as she felt my hardness pressing against her hidden pussy. Now that I didn t have to hold her up, my hands could wander again. I cupped her breasts in each hand, thrilled to discover her nipples were stiff beneath my thumbs. I licked her neck as I massaged her globes, and she began to moan as she panted. I knew it was wrong. I didn t care. And neither did she. I pulled up her slip so I could get my hands beneath it. I stroked her flat pale tummy which quivered under my fingertips. She arched her back as my hand closed over her bra covered breast. I pushed the slip up so I could see them. Glancing down, I saw her.
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We stand at the ordering counter in a sort of awkward silence, both conscious, I think, of a kind of mutual uncertainty hanging between us. But, once we get seated at a small table by the window, the atmosphere mellows. Moe — no, Monica. ‘Moe’ is too hard edged. Curiously, my inner-conversation decides that this little butterball is definitely a ‘Monica’, not a ‘Moe’ — anyway, Monica smiles, “Thank you…,” then, raising her eyebrows, adds, “Jake?”I return her smile, but reply, “Jacob, please. I’ve never been Jake — or Jay.”“Oh. Sorry, then, Jacob. I just…” She begins to nervously babble.“It’s all right.” I smile at her, probably too indulgently, then turn serious. “So how are you feeling — seriously?”She smiles a shy, sad smile, and waits a beat before responding softly, “I’m okay. Really.” Nodding her head.

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