“Nothing,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t believe me.A chasm of yearning yawned within me when my daughter sighed and whispered, “Yes you were. ...ou were looking at my tits.”Humiliation descended. “God, no, I wasn’t, Jemima,” I croaked.My daughter laughed, the sound somewhere between amusement and derision. “Come of it,” she said, “I know when a bloke’s looking at my boobs.”I floundered, unsure of what I was feeling. “I wasn’t looking at you like that,” I said. “I was just looking.”Then, in a. ”I giggled. “Really, that long?”“No, maybe the last three or four ... since you got these...”His hands cupped my large breasts and I let out a little involuntary moan.We took a few moments and basked in the post-coital glow. Being with an older man was so much different from being with guys my age and my head was spinning. I could hear the waves gently colliding against the shore outside his Malibu beach house and it was an interesting juxtaposition to the nervous turmoil I was feeling inside.. More

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