She wore two garters. Steve felt his heart thudding as he watched her fingers rearranging the garters. Her leg was stretched out, her foot arching over the steep rise of the high heel; the top part of her foot was crisscrossed with thin straps, and her toes, sheathed in silk, wiggled excitedly.

"You like my legs, Steve?"

Steve caught his breath. "Yes. They're lovely."

"I'm glad they please you, I think you're pretty, too," she said, putting out her other leg. Not caring, she allowed her skirt to rise up above the stocking tops, exposing her white thighs and even a small portion of her panty crotch. Steve was sure he could see black pussy hairs sneaking from under her panties, and he could imagine the lips of her plump cunt because he'd seen lots of naked cunts and panty- covered cunts and shaved hairless cunts in the girlie magazines back in the States.

"They do."

She moved closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. Her skirt was still up high and, as she turned slightly to face him, it rose higher. Steve just couldn't take his eyes away from her mound. Then at last he could see the plump lips clearly. He loved the sight.

"Steve?"

"Yes. Melissa?"

"Steve," she said in a soft voice, almost husky, "do you think you're going to like me?"

"God, yes. I do. I do."

There was a moment of silence.

"Steve," she said, her hand on his upper thigh, very close to his penis, which was smoldering hot and hard under his clothing, "Steve, do you think that people will start talking about us?" She held her breath.

He put his arm around her shoulder and she raised her face to kiss his cheek.

"Do you, Steve?"

"Is it important?" He asked this in the tone of an adult many years beyond his own age, as if he were a gallant, a flaneur, a man of much experience.