It never seemed to faze him though. He bent down to tie his shoe and on the way back up, his hand found itself gliding up my thigh and under my little...black dress and on my ass. No one noticed even though I jumped a little. “You sure? He seems a little, well, beta. Repressed. I can’t imagine that does it for you.” He asked and put his hand in my underwear, slipping his middle finger into the crack of my ass. He pushed, my pucker resisting his invasion.“Stop it. Take it out. There’s more to life. At 27 cents a gallon nobody else cared how far a car went on a gallon of gas.That’s what the old-timers from that era tell me, anyway. I’ve got a couple of them on my morning walk route. Sometimes I stop and listen to their stories. They love talking about the good old days.I bring up the Buick TV ad because it reminded me of my latest encounter.Living in a neighborhood of stand-alone houses and row houses (or “townhouses” if you prefer), you get a constant mix of people coming and going. It. More

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