She must be laughing her knickers off. If she wears any.“Is that you, Thomas?”Everyone else called me Tom or Tommy. “Yes, Mrs. Barnard, it’s m...,” I said, hanging my overcoat on a hall peg.The stocky figure of my landlady emerged from the front room. Hair in curlers under a headscarf, she wore a thick housecoat, arms folded under a matronly bosom. She smiled at me. “I was just off to bed. Do you want any supper?”“No. I’m fine, thanks.” And I was, except I needed to pee after drinking several. Swell.We pulled into the driveway, and my spirits brightened immediately. Joline came bounding out of the house to greet us. It took me less than a moment to realize that my gangly, awkward, flat-chested cousin had become a farm girl fox. She wore her hair long, her clothes loose, and her tits big. She had filled out in all the right places, and had a fabulous figure. Even better, her face and complexion were farm girl fresh; she was the very definition of the word "pretty."I couldn't take my. More

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