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“So what do you have planned for me, Uncle Billy?” she whispered coyly, as she looked up into my eyes, her hands behind her back…she was rocking to and fro, and jutting her proud tits out for me to admire, which I did. I guess she saw me leering at them, because she grabbed my hands and placed them gently on her pert teenaged mounds, and covered my hands with hers. Instinctively, I squeezed them gently, and I could feel their heavenly smoothness and hardness through the thin veil of black material. Lexi groaned and closed her eyes. After a minute or so, she pulled my hands away, and guided them down each side of her slinky little night gown, until she reached the hem, which just barely covered her fine round ass. She used my hands to pull the hem up, and then she ran my hands up and down her bare hips, then back behind her body, stopping on her ass. My prior question about whether or not she was wearing panties was instantly answered. Her tight, firm bottom felt so good, I. In fact, time seemed to pause and mix and weave itself together in such a way that I seemed to be walking in the past, as well as the present. More silliness, I thought.The low roar of people and music beckoned to me from Bourbon Street, but I wasn't in the mood for crowds. As I reached Jackson Square, the lonely, soulful singing of a saxophone wrapped itself around me like smoky silk, pulling me toward it. Mesmerized, I walked into the park and found the source of the music. A man with dreadlocks stood weaving and gyrating as he played, his silver saxophone glinting in the streetlights. The case from his instrument stood open before him, and a small crowd had gathered round. The mellow notes seemed to tell a story of life—love and sex, people, friends, happiness, grief, more love, and more sex. A young woman danced and swayed to the music, her diaphanous skirt floating and swirling about her long legs. She seemed the embodiment of the melody itself. I envied her the freedom of.
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