.."C cup, I think. No need to go overboard," he purred.His eyes were now closed, and Lorraine was not sure he remembered shewas in the room as his hands moved down the front of his nightgowntoward the last part of masculinity he possessed ...Lorraine looked away for a moment, and then it was over.What was standing (or rather floating a couple of inches) in front ofher was not only a woman, but woman of extraordinary beauty. She lookedlike she had just stepped of a clam shell in some portrait of thegoddess of beauty and put on a modern nightgown. A nightgown thatLorraine couldn't help but notice was much more shear than it had beenmoments before, and a good deal shorter too.In a desperate attempt to keep her mind (not to mention her libito)busy, Lorraine stammered, "Michael?" Not any more," the woman replied. "Call me... Melody."And her voice fit the name, because it sang, even though she had onlybeen speaking.Lorraine remembered reading of a woman whose voice alone had suchseductive. "Baby this is a bar! and there is no dance floor." Mark whispered. Susan replied, "They didn't card me for the champagne. If you will take me in on your arm nobody but nobody will naysay you. As for the dance floor there is enough room in front of the piano. You might have to hold me very close. I Hope." The piano man played a slow romantic one. Mark had finally smiled and took Susan into his arms and she just flowed right up against him. They moved like the swaying of willow branches in the breeze. Dancing with Susan he would catch himself falling into the fantasy that Susan WAS a 22 year old coed who loved him. Sometimes she was a mythical loving sprite in his arms, following and answering each movement of his body. He realized that he had had a very stiff member for a while. How long he didn't know. Susan hadn't seemed to notice and it might mess up the smooth flow of their movement if he tried to adjust. All Mark could think of was her head on his.
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