And here we are, fucking like reborn teenagers, hard meeting soft. Further wetness floods my channel as I recall the Calippo incident. Maybe he’s do...ng the same, replaying my dirty act in his mind as the pace of his pounding steps up another notch. We’ve not reached ‘frenetic’ but we’re not far off. I’m molten inside, honeydew lava trickling down my ivory thighs, staining the crotch of my forgotten outerwear. A wicked thought flashes through my mind. When we get back home I will chase him to. Bower.Anita Bower lived across the street and she and her husband were friends of my family. They had always lived across the street and had known my father. Mr. Bower was your typical guy's guy, offer you a beer, played golf at the club, and drove a caddy. Mrs. Bower was anything but typical. She was in her late forties or very early fifties when we got to know each other well. She was from Belgium and had a very sexy accent. Mrs. Bower had blonde hair that she wore in a shaggy mane with the. More

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