Morgan Dennis was unreadable. She had black hair, always tied in a tight bun. She never quite looked straight at you, even when she was talking to you... She dressed in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, even in the heat of July, so who knew what she was shaped like?We were there to learn the fine art of painting on wet plaster—affresco. I’d painted two wall murals, but they were both on dry surfaces—a secco.We spent the first week mixing plaster with lime and distilled water and learning how to use a. "Now," Mr. Prand said to the maids, as if everything that was happeningwas perfectly normal and expected, "would you like to use your hands oneach other? Touching here and there?"This was the worst thing that had happened since circumstances hadforced them into this unwanted employment. But they were desperate, offbalance, stressed out, and upset with each other over those kisses. Tedgrabbed Jack's hips and pulled their bodies together, grinding hiscrotch hard against the other maid's. Jack. Put my right hand on her breasts and started to squeeze them hard while I moved down. I could see her. Her vertical lips guarded by hair around them. I inhaled her to my core. It was nothing I had inhaled before. Her fragrance was strong, elated and indifferent.I kept on inhaling her till I was fuelled. She moved her hand down and clinch open her vertical lips. I could see the pink flesh giving out her juices from the walls. Few drops wrangled down on her thighs and on the bed. Her swollen clit. I was obsessed with discovering what girls had between their legs but in those pre internet porn days and being too young to buy “men’s magazines” that erotic secret remained a mystery. The closest I got to porn was the models in bras and panties in the lingerie pages in my mother’s clothes catalogues.I’d been having “wet dreams.” I can’t remember much of them except that they involved girls, panties and swimsuits, and I’d wake up with my pyjama trousers and the bed sheets wet with sticky.
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