She sat there, her tears all but washed away by the rain and when she started the little Volkswagen, the saddening, jarring sound of the radio startle... her. She turned the radio off, the Beatles fading away to be replaced by the whoosh, whoosh of the wiper blades. Without the rain, the tears flowed freely and she waited and waited for them to finally stop before pulling away from the curb near the graves and leaving the cemetery. Driving down the road, she stopped at the same Italian grocery as. Now I have a thing about mature ladies who wear girdles and just the thought that she could be wearing one sent tingles to my groin and my imagination into overdriveShe was smart and quite nice and so I smiled and she obligingly returned it. Nothing unusual there – she was just being polite, wasn’t she? As she swivelled round to speak to the waiter I noticed that her dress was shorter than the usually demure ‘below the knee’ revealing a pair of delicious legs encased in sheer stockings.I was so. More

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