There’s something about sitting at a kitchen table and wine that seems incongruous to me unless I’m eating.’ He followed her to the living room ...nd sat on the couch a couple of feet from her. She put her glass on the coffee table and paused before she smiled and said, ‘Reading that wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. Of course it’s just the start of the story too.’ ‘That’s right, but I’ll bet you can get an idea where the story is going.’ ‘Well I have some guesses, but there are several ways it. . illegal as well ... and it would ruin all our lives!”Was she talking to me or to herself? “I love and desire you mother.”“Stop saying that!” She hissed, her face looking furious, her voice sounded threatening.Mother was never a beauty - there was nothing about her that would attract male admirers if they had not taken the time to get to know her. She was a gentle polite caring woman - small of stature, perhaps once cute of face. And though our time together, talking privately, I knew she. Generally he enjoyed being his own person. Always something of a loner he never was much of a mixer and, frankly, he thought most of the people in the music industry were too far up themselves to bother with.Mostly it was, listen to the tapes, do the gig, and slip back home to hang out on the deck overlooking the ocean. He didn't even play much when he was home. It was his work best left at the office.Once a week a little Chinese woman, Mai, would come in to clean his house. She was in her late. If only I'd wetted the tip. That would have been better, don't you think George?" "I wouldn't know, Mary, Mrs Lewes would never finger my arsehole and, truth be told, I don't believe she's ever had her hand on my cock." "Her normal, same-size-as-its-compatriot, hand?" "Yes." "Never massaged your furred family jewels or encircled your thick base as your forest of pubic hair caresses her pure, alabaster skin." "No." Or corkscrewed up and down your length revelling in your meaty thickness, eyes.
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