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I avoided the main topic and said, "I kissed a girl this weekend."I blushed and held my breath, my head down, unable to look my mother in the eyes. She remained motionless and silent, dropping her head and picking at my bedspread with her fingers. I couldn't read her face or her body language no matter how hard I tried.After the longest minute of my life, she held out her arms and said, "Come here to me, let me hold you."I crawled over and cuddled in beside her with my head on her chest. She was warm and soft, with her unique smell I have always associated with love. I started crying, short little sobs that did little to calm the guilt I felt."Now tell me; what happened?"I started slowly, telling her about the incident in the showers, and after that I said something about wishing it had been someone else that touched me. From there, I confessed to having these feelings way back in sixth and seventh grade, usually for one of my teachers. I added to it by saying that last year I'd felt. "Just a soldier," I said, enjoying the stimulating view. "No more than that." A bold one."I nodded. "That's how I've stayed alive." And you've got somethin' you want to give me, eh, something long and hard and mostly gristle?" She smiled a fine smile and I had to admire not only her beauty, which was nearly startling, but her cool demeanor. She was perhaps five ten or so in her high-heeled boots, maybe eleven or twelve well-organized stone, with a long neck, wide shoulders and a heart-stopping figure who wore her clothes as if they were an afterthought and walked with completely unconscious grace, like a big cat I decided. She was a living, breathing invitation to copulation, and my mind nearly froze while my member stirred and pulsed.I shook my head at her frank, sexual suggestion. "Wouldn't you like to spend a day away from that drudgery?" I asked, holding her gray eyes steadily, her warm hand in mine, trying to ignore the size and shape of her, the length of her legs, the swell of.
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