As I pour the water into the mugs, she sat at the table and crossed her legs, showing a brief glimpse of her white panties. I spilled water and burned...my finger. When I groaned "ouch" and put my hand under cold water, she realized I burned my finger and came over to the sink. She helped hold my hand under the water and was so close to me, I felt drunk from her scent. Her blue eyes pierced my soul and I was filled with desire and lust and I had to have her. She asked if my finger felt better. I. Figure to yourself, Madam, fair stripling between eighteen and nineteen, with his head reclined on one of the sides of the chair, his hair disordered curls, irregularly shading a face, on which all the roseate bloom of youth and all the manly graces conspired to fix my eye sand heart; even the languour and paleness of his face, in which the momentary triumph of the lily over the rose was owing to the excesses of the night, gave an inexpressible sweetness to the finest features imaginable: his. More

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