As I grew older, I became curious about past lives and reincarnation and became an avid reader on the subject. So, when I met Cassondra a few years ago, she was one whom I felt I had known my whole life, and the longer I was around her I sensed with certainty that I had been in one or more of her lives. But the curious aspect was the fact that I seemed to know without question that she had been a prostitute.

As I began stroking, the moans came naturally as I raised my head up and back. The strokes felt so damned good — near cathartic — until I noticed the shower curtain move. I stopped my hand and looked more closely, hoping I had imagined the moving curtain. But then I saw masculine fingers grasp the fabric and plastic barrier to pull aside cautiously.

The night was calm and warm, and I felt wonderful just being in my own thoughts, until I felt hands on my body, and lips trying to devour mine. I reacted spontaneously, surprising myself. With eyes closed the wine helped me give in and reciprocate as the hands roamed, lips and tongue explored, and clothes came off. More fondles and explorations continued. What a high to feel this free.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispered as her hand roamed over Emily’s short satin nightgown. Easing the gown down from Emily’s breasts, Rachel leaned over and flicked her tongue over the nipple. Emily yelped in surprise, wanting to protest because this seemed wrong, but was unable to utter anything other than a moan.

She picked up the wineglass and drank deeply before sitting it back down. Closing her eyes, she stroked the soft swell of her naked breasts once again. It almost seemed to her that someone else guided her movements, and if she leaned back she’d feel the heat of a body behind her. That thought sent a thrill of excitement rushing down her body, but she didn’t lean back, not wanting to feel the disappointment.

I saw Marty standing near the motorcycle dressed in jeans, boots, and leather jacket, and felt a rush of heat. His black hair and beard, with just a touch of grey, seemed to complement the sleekness of the black tank and chrome pipes — a sexy image that would invade my dreams for the next two weeks.

She caught a glimpse of a new, shiny red convertible, sitting on a platform at a car lot. On impulse, she turned her car into the lot, parked, and maneuvered her legs encased in her new tight jeans out the door. Her bright red heels, part of her new look, clicked on the pavement as she strutted toward that beautiful car.

Emily, reared by a religiously fanatical grandmother after her parents were taken from her by a freak accident, grew into young adulthood under-developed in self-esteem, social skills, and knowing much about sex, except whatever her older cousin would impart. Until the night of her grandmother’s funeral. Her awakening, regarding passion and sex, began with a dream.

On our taxi ride to the hotel, I was so enthralled at being in the tropics that I was feeling a great need to fuck my guy. I envisioned me straddling Marty in the water, getting him hard, and slipping his cock in through a leg opening of my bathing suit that I’d have pulled aside to receive him. That visual had me crossing and uncrossing my legs in hopes of relieving the craving since I couldn’t do much about it at that moment.

I didn't want to do it. I told myself. So then, why did you? I asked the image in the mirror. What kind of person are you to take advantage of someone who was seemingly innocent and already in a relationship?

Steve came up to the couple just finishing a waltz and asked Emily if she would care to dance with him. Is he kidding? I never thought he’d ask, she thought, but only said, “I’d love to.” Then she turned to Jack to introduce the two men. She wanted to say that this was the man she wanted to take to bed, but she refrained from mentioning that bit of personal desire.