I’d cry and die inside. I recall I never, not once ever tried to feel her up. I’d sit there with a great big “hard on” and just suffer through... Some country music singer my grandfather liked. I could never remember the singer’s name, but he had this song called “Kawlija”. It was about a wooden Indian who fell in love with a wooden Indian maid, but Kawlija never ever got to express how he felt. Then one day a wealthy customer bought the Indian maid, but poor old Kawlija he just stayed. That was. A stir in his shorts caused him to move to the kitchen, knowing that many times before a beautiful woman had caused him to have to excuse himself to the bathroom to relieve his lust. This time though, he stayed in the kitchen, and returned to his regular duties. Another pitcher later the rain began to fall, as it falls in Atlanta in gallons by the second. The margaritas and the rain made the women insatiably horny, and they devised a scheme to have a little fun with their waiter. Erika made her. More

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