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His erection was straining his shorts and he was embarrassed to see several wet spots on his clothes. He wondered if Alex was having the same reaction.“I think this is where you two undress,” Meg whispered.She started to help with buttons and zippers as her two friends quickly stripped down. Not being familiar with young men’s erections, she was surprised to see their hard-ons pointing straight to the sky. Each was well developed but she didn’t know how different each would be.George had a cock with well-defined veins running its length with a broad, red head. A tiny crystal drop hung from the tip. Alex’s, however, was sheathed with a hood of velvety soft skin. Peeking out from under this sheath was a bright red head. She realized that it was like the penises of statues she had seen in museums.At least the penises that had escaped being knocked off by little old Victorian ladies with hammers! What Meg saw were two large penises, bouncing up and down as if on strings, with glistening. I cried, silently and in private.There had been the scrawny, freckled girl when I was twelve. The girl who had taught me how to play my body. She had taught me the miracle of lovemaking. She gave me this shattering feeling that had enslaved me at once. But the girl had left soon and without a word. She left me behind with a craving I could not fulfil. No one cared to share it with me.Oh, in some circles I was popular. But what's in a word? For the pimpled nerds I was popular. For the shy closet gays I solved a problem. I was the only girl they dared approach. I was the only girl they could muster enough courage for to ask out on a clumsy date.And there were the overweight, sweaty girls, of course.But now she was a woman. She was a woman who had taught herself she loved women. A woman who stood in the elevator of the poshest hotel of Quebec. Invited by the most breath-taking woman she had ever met.How could she believe the woman had been sincere, back at the restaurant? How could she.
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