I swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on scrubbing the pattern off the bone-dry plate in my hand. She noticed. “Don’t be rubbing too hard... Leave the pattern on, Kevin, there’s a good lad,” she said with a smirk, handing my another wet one to replace it. She picked up another out of the bowl, and I swear she was deliberately being overenthusiastic, making her tits bounce around more than ever. “This is a hard one,” she announced. “It needs a proper good rubbing.” I’m sure she. I was hoping something like this would happen again. Thursday evening, Kay called me and asked if I wanted to go out to her church-friend Cynthias house for dinner on Saturday. I agreed, especially after learning that Cynthia lived right on a lake with few neighbors. While Cynthia was a bit older, she still looked sexy and seemed to respond when I flashed her in the supermarket some weeks back. We arrived at Cynthias house around 5:30. I was introduced to Marc, Cynthias husband. He was about 59. More

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