Memoirs

He sat on a wooden folding chair, expressing himslef or just listening to others, can't remember; my mind was surfing big waves. I stood behind him. Quietly. I think he felt my entangled, shady presence. My feet were about ten centimetres away from the chair. His head, sitting, the hight of my chest. Excited to the core i was playing with ideas of how to gently rock his chair with my knee. Above. So I did. Clumsily, very lightly, I leant my knee against the edge of the seat trying to rock it, very fraily, to sail him along my fothills arousal. Nobody should notice the tiny sabotage but him. Maybe he didn't. It was a truly delicate move, but my thighs were in flames.