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We met for the first time at the hanger for private planes at the airport. Clothed, she was gorgeous. Of course, I'd seen her in the restaurant, but close up she was even more beautiful, and the blouse she was wearing emphasized what I can only describe as her spectacular tits.

We chatted much of the flight, but both of us got some sleep.

A limo was waiting to whisk us to our hotel. "Eamon, after the long flight, I need a shower. Join me?"

"What a wonderful way to get to know each other."

I said clothed Mum was gorgeous. Naked, she was perfect. Perfect tits, perfect ass.

As you know most of the women I'd been with since I'd left that waitering job were in their forties, fifties, even sixties. They all, without exception, did little grooming down below.

Invariably, I was face-to-face with a mass of pubic hair. To clarify, I found nothing more satisfying than rubbing my face in their glorious bushes, inhale their fragrance. There was nothing more exhilarating than listening to them moan as my tongue did what Princess Sophie had trained my tongue to do. ...

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