”I stood up. “Thank you, Will. Now, watch me go out the door and trip over the door jamb on national television.”“Just try to do it gracefully... Mister President.”I went out the door and around the corner to exit the West Wing towards the Rose Garden. Thankfully, I didn’t trip going through the door. I walked over to the podium, where everybody was arrayed properly. There was a microphone at the podium, but I could see several more, long range and parabolic, over the heads of the audience and. This couldn’t, and didn’t, last long, but long enough to be respectable. I pulled out and she kindly took me in hand without a pause and stroked me as I spurted cum on the gentle plane of her belly.Let me tell you about the Tufts girl. She was lithe and cream-colored and without flaw. I moved my hands over her perfectly flat tummy and sharp hips. In my closer examination, I found she’d left a vertical stripe of close-trimmed hair, light as a pencil shading, as punctuation atop the smooth cleft. As a last result she went to them and begged them to help her. She was so skilled with using guilt to get what she wanted that their hearts broke and they decided to help her somewhat. In spite of the fact that my parents didn't want to help her that much I was pretty much taking care of her since she got pregnant. She was in fact living with me and I did a lot f or her while at my house. I would rub cocoa butter on her stomach to hide the stretch marks and to my delight I was able to do that. On about our fourth 'date' (more of a make out session really), I decided I had to find out where the limits were. I slid my hand from around her waist, up over her shirt to her breast. A sharp "No!" told me all I needed to know about the limits. Frankly, I was relieved.At least I was relieved at first. As Sharon and I became more comfortable together, the weight of our age and grade difference lifted. I came to know her more as a person, and the unapproachable goddess from first chair faded.
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