“Hon.” Beatrice came out to her son just as he was about to leave. “Here, some spending money.” Beatrice handed her son a hundred dollar bill,...as she smiled at him. “Oh wow, thanks, mom.” Thomas looked a bit surprised as he took the bill depicting Isaiah Jefferson, the first black president. “You look very handsome.” Beatrice leaned in and gave her son a small hug as she whispered. “I know she’s going to say yes.” Beatrice leaned back. Thomas got such a surprised look on his face. Somehow his. Each of them, and I verified that even Renée had it, had a three character code at the beginning of their command box, even the ones who didn't have any commands at all. I pulled up my code and looked, but I didn't have it. Was it because they were female? No, that couldn't be. Why would women have additional genetic code that men didn't have? For the most part, both genders are the same. It had to be because of me. Each of these women bore my mark, the amber streak that hovered over their. So I did for a while, and then got up and set in the lounge chair next to her, looking at that, all too familiar pussy/sweat stain between her legs. After an agonizing hour or so, she got up and told me to follow her to the room. She had not fixed her bottoms, so when she got up, so I got a good look at her tight ass cheeks she worked so hard on. You would not even be able to put a pencil under her butt cheeks. When we got to the room, we slowly undressed each other, me taking the top off the. No sex. No affair. No validation of my parking ticket. Fast forward several months. Out of the blue, an email comes to me from the woman. “How are you?” she asks, “I just wanted to catch up and see how you are…” Out of the blue. Some further email exchanges, and we agree to meet, just as potential friends, for coffee. Maybe dinner. I’m game. One can never have too many friends in this world. And she still intrigued me for some reason. Maybe I enjoyed being disposed of in such a summary fashion.
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