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She started to touch me through my trousers, realising that I had become hard, aroused by her. She would trace the shape of my erection through my trousers.I started to massage the heat of her crotch through her jeans, my hand wandered under her t-shirt and I massaged her breasts. I even managed to peel her bra down and expose her breasts completely. Although they were small and not fully developed I loved the way she would breath in deeply to puff up her chest and push her breast more firmly into my hand and I loved the way that her nipples would harden to my touch becoming hard and puckered - clearly aroused.One Wednesday night, when Mark was out working and Mom and Dad had gone out bowling with some of their friends, Rachel and I had a really intimate petting session. We were lying full length on the sofa, kissing with passion - I had taught her to kiss with her mouth open so that our tongues could snake around each other’s mouths - her t-shirt was up around her neck and her. Ever since that "Yes!", I had felt invincible, like nothing in the world could stop me. Now, however, I suddenly began worrying that all this was too good to be true, that I was deluding myself, that somehow everyone had colluded to play a giant prank on me and I was the only one who wasn't aware. Or maybe it was all just a dream? Basically, I couldn't believe that I had ever managed to get someone as beautiful as the woman in white now walking down the aisle towards me to ever love me.As she drew closer, the feeling of dread grew. Why was she so immaculate? Why was she so clean? There was not a spot on her, not a single fleck of semen, not a hair out of place -- at least, as far as I could tell, since her head was hidden under a shroud. A fucking shroud?? What was this, the sixteenth century? Who wears a shroud to a wedding? And why was no-one getting up to use her? Why was she allowed to walk towards the altar completely unspoiled? It wasn't respect for the sanctity of marriage --.
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