Monica, had great tits and knew it. She gently slipped one from the bra cup and squeezed her nipple whilst looking up at her boss with her big blue ey...s. He let out a little moan as she knew he would as she worked her nipple into a hard nub with a blue painted thumb nail. Monica worked her lips on his shaft. Her red, lipstick coated lips slipping up and down. “Fuck,” rasped Seymour gripping the arms of his desk chair with one hand, fumbling his computer keys with the other. Monica hitched her. The picture screamed of youth, privilege, and a bright future. I still had all of these things, with or without David. What could I say about David, the person who was once closest to me next to my own family, but now a tuxedoed stranger to me with glazed eyes from a 5×7 glossy print photo? How could I start to tell the story of what most people would consider to be the perfect high school romance? He was the smart, athletic jock: tall, dark and handsome, and I was probably the nerdiest girl in. More

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