Dusting the furniture was like my small hand daintily sliding along his thick, smooth, veiny shaft, stroking it sexily. Hell, even watering the plant... was his semen spilling into my vagina. All day long I was wet and wanting. And I was confused.I love Tony. With all my heart. He’s my husband. So what’s wrong with me? What is it that makes me want to have made, passionate, fully-reproductive sex with another man? A black man? Was it me? Was it Tony? Was it Ron? Was it Ron’s bedroom? . The firm, compact globes of her delightful derriere and the hidden entrance into the depths of her being, both physical (or sexual) and psychological were sights worth any number of expensive microscopes or any other toys she might fancy. Carlos was only glad that he had the financial means to satisfy her whims; otherwise she might be disinclined to satisfy his. She enjoyed the microscope immensely. She used it to view every object she could think of, watching the flow of round, green. More

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