Martha eyed him curiously, knowing that Jake seldom turned down the offer of a blow-job."I wanna fuck your cunt, baby," he rasped. "I'll take a rain c...eck on the blowjob until tonight."Martha smiled and leaned back, licking her lips, not caring which of her fuckholes he emptied his bloated balls into, as long as he filled her with jism at one end or the other. She drew her skirt up above her waist. She wasn't wearing any panties--she seldom did around the house--and Jake gazed down at her. I fall into line behind him and fix my eyes on his back. His sandy brown hair pokes slightly from beneath the beanie he wears. He carries a gun and a backpack, both slung over his broad shoulders. The woods are holy to him. I get the feeling that he is in tune here, that this is one of the few places in his life he feels like he fits. I often think he missed his generation — he should’ve been a frontiersmen. He should’ve lived off the land. He should’ve built a log cabin with his hands and. More

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