I found my slit and slowly entered one finger. I began with a slow and steady movement but I was so hot that I had to move my finger in and out faster to receive the pleasure I was aching for. I was now fingering myself at full speed and letting my hand slam against myself, pretending they were his balls slapping against me. I came on my fingers and felt my milk pour out of me and onto my fingers. I looked back out at the man mowing the lawn but this time he was standing by the lawn mower. He was looking up at my window and had seen me the entire time while I touched myself. My cheeks burned in embarrassment but I also felt aroused again, knowing he had watched me finger fuck myself. I tried to ignore how hot I was feeling and put on a pair of denim shorts that were short enough so that you could see my ass cheeks at the bottom. Then I put on a white tshirt that was see through enough to make out the shape of my red bra underneath. I walked downstairs and debated whether or not to. I stayed away from her. I was afraid I would be too much of the drooling, inarticulate male. We circulated through conversations, sometimes staying to chat a bit and move on. I became a regular patron of the establishment, so we saw each other more often. And I soon learned I couldn’t have her. The people we were would keep us forever apart. Such things have happened before. I sighed internally, shrugged my shoulders and continued to visit where our lives intersected. But this wasn’t like before. Other times, my feelings would fade eventually. On accepting the inevitable the object of my desire and I would drift away. Now, I couldn’t stop my feelings. Every time I saw her they rose in me. Being so aware of her and knowing she wasn’t to be mine would hurt. To be so close and not to have is painful. I would come where we met to see her, then avoid her. I wouldn’t enter conversations where she was, and would leave those when she arrived. Sometimes I could control myself enough to speak,.
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