I smile and introduce myself as Will Fletcher. He looks askance, saying he has been informed different, and asks outright if I am indeed also known as...the infamous William the Bowman who had travelled these parts previously, most recently known to have done so some six summers past. I pull the callow youth closer and hiss in his ear that I am simply Will Fletcher and that any mention of a Will Bowman in my presence or in any association with me is not to be countenanced. He foreswears ever. Phillip’s heart went straight to his throat, and his cock stiffened as the woman walked towards him, with her hand extended in greeting. “Mr. Duncan, I’m Nora Taylor.” Approaching him was a combination of Jessica Simpson, Victoria Beckham and a young Raquel Welch. She was the ideal of many men’s wet dreams. Ms. Nora Taylor stood about five feet, seven inches, maybe one hundred thirty-five pounds and built like a brick shithouse. A white v-necked silk blouse hugged her ample breasts. Her. More

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