“Can I ask who you’re going to vote for?” she asked as she closed the distance between us.“Why?” I said, my spidey senses tingling now.“I ...ust want to make sure you’re going to vote the right way,” she said as her grin changed slightly.If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she was coming on to me.“What do you mean, the right way?” I asked with a chuckle.“Did you know the Conservative Party intends to cut social spending?” she asked as she laid a hand lightly on my arm.“Yes, I did,” I. Washing my hair is sometimes a joy and sometimes a chore. Long and thick it depends on my mood on which it is. This morning it was a joy, feeling my fingers slip and slide through the suds as I leaned my head back and felt my fingernails sc**** lightly on my scalp. The only thing that would have felt better was a hand fisted in it with a breathy whisper across my ear. Fuck, that wasn’t just a stir between my legs it was almost a clench. I wonder if all women feel clenches, those moments when. More

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