As far as my cunt is concerned it’s like the old Windmill Theatre. It never closes.”“Not even once a month?” Jason laughed. He was surprised...he wasn’t more shocked.“Not even then. In fact, especially not then. That’s when I’m most sensitive.”“Like mother, like daughter,” Jason mused.“Too true.”They looked at each other.“Wanna fuck?” she asked.“No!” he said sharply.“That bulge says you do.”“Callie! You’re my daughter!”“So what? I’m a woman. I’ve got an over-active cunt which needs some. "Really, sounds like terrorist to me," I suggested."Oh I will definitely keep that in mind," he said as he walked toward his own car. "You know, I got to ask where you were yesterday, when he went to pieces, so to speak." You know I can't for the life of me remember the name of the motel where Bart and I went to celebrate. He might remember," I suggested. "I was pretty drunk you know." Yeah, I know. Somehow I don't think Bart is going to remember either. I also expect when I ask he is going to. More

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