He sighed in my ear, and let his tongue lightly caress the parted lips of my mouth. He stole my breath, then handed it back to me.His gentle fingers played over my skin, making it sing. He had me arching against him as he let his fingers splay outward from my breasts or from my belly.Then, letting his tongue dance along the path his fingers had just travelled, he soon centered his artful tongue on my protruding nub. His one aim; to make it rise against his lips.He continually stabbed at it or pulled on it; making it rise from its hooded hiding place.He pressed himself against my rear, just slightly separating the cheeks so his hard arousal could rest between them. I knew he wanted to press it into me, for I could feel his arousal quiver as its head rested against that tight rosebud, and my cheeks softly encased the hard, stiff rod that was his shaft.But, being the considerate lover he is, he knew I wasn't ready yet. I jutted my rear into his groin, aching for the touch of him; aching. Our little brother David was born in the spring of 1967. Our parents had sat us down and explained where babies come from soon after Mom found out she was pregnant. One day soon after school was out for the summer, Mary and I were playing in the treehouse that Dad had built for us. It was built in a large oak tree near the back corner of our property. The tree house was about six feet square with a roof and windows on each side. We had taken old blankets and pillows we had found in the basement up to it so it was very comfortable. Mary had to go inside to use the bathroom, but quickly came running back to the treehouse. "Come on," she said, "You have to see this." I followed her to the back door of the house. She put her finger to her lips and motioned me to be quiet. We eased open the back door and slid into the house.Mary and I tip-toed across the kitchen floor to the top of the stairs. We could see down into the den through the railing. Our house did not have air conditioning, so.
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