I rescued an old, ragged, towel that we could put under Zee’s back -- much more comfortable than a shirt. I bought a comb for her hair. I’d keep both in my bike pack. I loved to comb out her hair. That not only got out the twigs and bits of grass, it allowed me to play with all that beauty.“I like doing this. I love your hair.”“I hate it.”“I can understand why, but it is truly lovely.” Not all, or even much, of our time was spent with my combing out her hair. Most of it was spent petting. I didn’t go into her jeans, but I stroked over them.“These jeans are too tight,” she said towards the end of summer.“Look great in them.”“Maybe, but I can’t ride a bike in them worth shit. I’m growing.”“I know.” I stroked one of her tits. The faithful nipple stood up for me. Before I could kiss it, I had a thought. “Maybe you should buy shorts instead of jeans.”“You think they’d be cheaper?” I had no idea what women’s clothes cost. Too much, Dad was always saying. I stroked her thigh, scratching. It was only here at work that her sexual side came out to play on the Internet.So with Rose, on her CPU, I put in several commands. "I lust after Peter Jacobs." "I need Peter Jacobs' cock inside of me." "Only Peter Jacobs' cock can make me climax hard." "I need to show Peter Jacobs that I want to have sex with him." "I don't like long skirts." "I like very short skirts." (I put that in there because I love looking at women's legs.) Now, the next part I felt might be pushing it, but I had to do it: "I will write Peter Jacobs e-mails telling him how much I need him." "I can confide in Peter Jacobs." "I can trust Peter Jacobs." "Peter Jacobs desires to have sex with me as much as I desire to have sex with him."I took a whole day timing her subliminal messages to fit inside her window clicks. I felt pretty confident that even though I had to break everything down the way that I did, that it would work. When I was ready I took my CD to her office, her door was open (they are supposed to.
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