The way his jeans crinkled up around his rugged boots. Oh help me god this is a matador. How he brushed his hair with his fingers and the way his eyes...moved across the page while he was reading. Gina bet his tongue moved that way too when he’s licking a trembling pussy. He was neither tall nor short. She deduced him to be no less than 5’10’. He was muscular but hardly the Sly Stallone type. The type was like those shirtless gas jockeys bent over the engine of the old man’s Chevy when you drive. Mom was all smiles and tears. Dad shook my hand and whispered “If you ever hurt my little girl ... remember I have 40 acres out here ... and a shovel.” I looked him back in the eye and said “If I ever hurt Janet ... I will help you did the hole.” With that, he smiled and hit me on the shoulder. “Good answer, boy.”The wedding was small and emotional; small because neither one of us had much in the line of family. Emotional because we had written our own vows and well let’s just say, there was. More

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