They were, strictly, platonic. So he took what he could – he sat next to her on the bus and beside her at the picnic. He got her her drinks and hear... her stories. In the middle of one of these stories is when Mark, from the next table, walked over and sat on their table, asking, “So, Mike, is Jane boring you with one of her stories again?”Jane playfully hit him on the knee and laughed, “Why are you such a dick, Mark? Michael likes my stories.”“But you know what I like, don’t you?” he asked her. He couldn’t hold back for long but she seemed pleased to feel him soaking her depths and then rose off and smiled as she departed without a farewell word.When Peter saw her the next day in the village she smiled and had only a few words, “It doesn’t like me now, I see,” referring to his flaccid dick.His response was, “Meet me same time, same place and I’ll show you.” She smiled and nodded. He had an anxious day and was right on time at his special place which was now even more so.She was not. Something sweet, yet tangy, like... Like a peach. The Lord Of The Dark growled. The San Fransisco night air was a plethora of aromas, some pleasant, some rank. Her's was both and neither, but he recognized it still.It was the Contessa Santangelo's essence. How long had it been? Eighty years? More? Of course, to an immortal, that's like three weeks in your time, dear reader, but he had missed her. However had they grown apart? Oh dear, yes. He had fallen in love with a blonde mortal, so in love. Our eyes met and we held our stares. It seemed as, unintentional as it was, she found touching my arousal curious and wanted to explore it more. No words were said. I looked directly into her wide hazel eyes and just nodded. She held my gaze and smiled back at me. We both knew what we wanted.More slowly this time, she slid her hand underneath my shorts, eager to find again my throbbing cock with her oily fingers. Easing it from my shorts she held it by the root and gazed at it in its.
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