Gayleen nodded her head in agreement. I let go of her hand. ‘Marjorie?’ I sat back, smiling and nodding my head again. ‘You’re telling me, tha... you are the one to place, or should I say, suggest her name to me?’ ‘I am…and I did,’ I assured her. Marjorie was the night shift supervisor where Gayleen and I both worked. She was in her late fifties to early sixties perhaps. Always a no nonsense kind of an individual, with a gruff demeanor, and a permanent scowl on her face that looked like it had. Then I heard that most glorious of sounds, that breath-catching prelude to incipient pleasure: the soft, low purr of a zipper.I backed away as quietly as I could, across the grass and around the bushes instead of through so I wouldn’t make any noise, and took off down the alley. I thought about staying to listen. I thought about taking out my cock back there and stroking it while she masturbated in the shed, if that’s what she was going to do. But I was afraid she would hear me, and I didn’t. More

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