I don’t know. It just never seemed to me like a thing a guy should ask for,” I said. I wasn’t sure I understood my own logic, but it made sense ...o me anyway.“You didn’t ask, my love,” she sighed. “I did. Touch me, lover. Tell me how you love me.”I told her. I touched her. I ran my fingers through her hair, across her breasts, up her legs, and into her pussy. We stayed this way for much longer than I figured I could last as Lissa built toward her climax. There was no way for me to hold back when. He didn’t need to call me a fuck whore; he didn’t to tell something that I didn’t know already. I was a fuck whore and his fuck whore. Mark: It hurt seeing that passion; it hurt watching them kiss; it hurt watching his hand under her skirt. I could understand things from his point of view; he was a man; that’s what men do if they get the chance. I remembered the times at the start of our relationship when I tried that and got my hand slapped away. Jane did not slap his hands away; in fact. More

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