“Hey Mishhhter Parker, what are you doing?” a tiny voice called through a retainer.It was Becky Finklestein, standing four feet tall, wearing whit... Keds and a pink sweatsuit. Becky’s frizzy hair was up in pigtails and her coke-bottle glasses were slipping down her nose. She popped a pink bubble. I turned my stool to face the girl and took a deep breath and told myself that she was just another pain-in-the-ass neighborhood kid. “I’m working on some fenceposts,” I said. “You’re Rachel. Time stopped. She jutted her hips against my hand, her breathing stopped. Turning her head into the pillow, she let out a soft cry of release, as I felt her entire body tense up with release. I continued manipulating her through this lustful convulsion in order to not ruin the moment for either of us. For what seemed an eternity, she kept her head buried in the pillow, not wanting to wake the few other passengers that had unknowingly joined us on this flight of fancy. It wasn’t until she turned. More

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