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“Nancy, this is ridiculous,” Tom Bates said. “There’s no such thing as a thirty-year-old virgin.”
“Oh, yes, there is,” Nancy Brown replied. “You’re looking at one.”
Tom was looking, all right. He’d been courting Nancy for months, but this was the first time she’d shown any passion. They were parked in Tom’s car, by a moonlit lake, and he’d managed to take most of Nancy’s clothes off. But then she’d panicked, refusing to go any farther in their love-making.
“Nancy, you’re driving me right up the walls,” Tom sighed. “I’m only human, honey. I want you.”
“I want you, too, Tom,” Nancy said sadly, “but I’m not ready. It just isn’t time yet.”
Tom stared at her with a mixture of love and exasperation. Nancy Brown was thirty, but she didn’t look it. She was a tall girl with long straight brown hair, a pert pretty face, and a fantastic figure. Sitting there in just her bra and panties, she made Tom’s mouth water.
He gawked at her big breasts which strained in the confinement of her little white lace bra. His glance strayed down, to the slight pout of her muff under her white lace panties. He admired her long lovely legs, silky flawless skin, tiny firm waist and slim yet curvy hips. He wanted her so badly, he could have screamed.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.