It’s Fall. Lovely crunchy orange, brown and red leaves, clear, cool November evening. We decided to stop the car and go for a stroll. Hand in warm hand, me leaning slightly on your strong muscular shoulders. We pass historic enchanted homes, all warmly lit with dinners glow. The pathway gets dimmer and dimmer as the houses lining the street get more sparse.We happen upon a cemetery. Halloween is in the past, but the chills remain. Tall, bone white headstones and small dark grey ones poke up from the earth. As morbid as we both are, we don’t dare to even ask each other if this should be explored. Ancient headstones, plastic flowers of remembrance, and small mausoleums holding families of importance.We continue to walk slowly, hands escort izmit intertwined, me squeezing gently and tenderly touching fingertips. Your thumb traces the inside of my wrist.The air is quite chilly now this darkening evening. Our breath is beginning to make small billowy ghosts in the air. We come upon the rows of mausoleums, each one more overgrown and crumbling than the last.Your fingers tap the inside of palm and my body knows instantly to follow where you want to lead me. You have picked a small, secluded resting house and begin to clear away beautiful dark green ivy that covers the gate. It creaks open like a death screech from a dying cat. You turn to me and offer me both outstretched hands. I greedily izmit escort accept them and follow you inside.There is not much light but for a small window at the back of the closet sized death home. The all-seeing moon is bright enough to let us have just enough light to cast mysterious yearning shadows all around. I trace the name plaques along the walls with a tender finger. I can’t make out the names but wouldn’t want to know who these people are regardless.I feel you behind me, your warmth reaching deep into me and awakening the demons and spirits within. Absolute silence all around us, minus our lustful breathing. You press against my back, running your hands down my arms, clasping my izmit kendi evi olan escort hands and pulling them from the dead people’s names to your face.I lean my whole body back into you, the smell of decaying leaves and cold evening air mix with your masculine scent making the most intoxicating concoction. The back of my head rests on your chest, my right hand on your smooth neck and left hands clasped around my body, under my breasts. Holding me closely, tightly. Just holding each other for now, in the crypt, under the moonlight. Something so dark and mysterious and sexy as hell in the literal sense.You begin to place small kisses down my neck. I drop my hands to your thighs, firmly gripping them and sliding them up slowly, moving the pressure and friction closer to your manhood. Your hands find the bottom of my dress and your nails slowly scratch my sides up to my bra. You find the clasps and undo them, freeing me from my fabric enclosure. My dress falls to the dusty dirt floor and I am free.