’ Angela dropped the full coffee scoop from her hand spilling grounds all over the counter. Tina’s eyes went wide again. This time she was smiling. She was sure that she had just figured out what was going on. ‘It is. Isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It is what?’ said Angela pretty much knowing what was coming. ‘It’s Stanley!’ Tina exclaimed. ‘You’re getting a regular dicking from Stanley!’ ‘Maybe a little,’ said Angela sheepishly. ‘Mom, there’s nothing little about Stanley,’ said Tina. Angela smirked and said, ‘You said a mouthful,’ then after a pause added, ‘so to speak.’ ‘Sorry,’ Angela continued, ‘bad choice of words.’ ‘Actually, it was almost perfect,’ said Tina laughed, ‘Except that he’s way more than a mouthful.’ ‘You’ve got that right,’ said Angela sharing in the mirth. Angela finished cleaning up the spilled grounds, poured water into the drip maker, pushed the start button, and joined her daughter at the kitchen table. ‘So, why did you think that you couldn’t tell me?’ Tina asked. ‘We. She had the habit when she was seated, to remove any creases from her dress by lifting it a couple of inches before pulling it straight and let it down again. This gave everybody in front of her, a perfect view of her legs up as far as her hips. As time went on, she allowed me more privileges. She was the first to allow me. I must rather say, with whom I have enough courage to do it to slip my hand underneath her bra. The sensation, felt for the first time a hard nipple brushing over my palm, was out of this world. Months after my hands were familiar enough with the soft roundness of her breasts, with the pebble hard nipples, and with the warmness of her thighs, my hand travelled without resistance deeper in between her legs. While she had not opened her legs to give my fingers access to her delicacy, nether did she press her legs together to bar the way. I felt teased, encuraged. And yes, when my hand needed more space so that my fingers could slip into her juice-filled slit, she.
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