"Hi Ladies!" The man nodded at us and walked on.My Mom had greeted him back, whereas I just stood there, looking at myMom."See, sweetie, he didn't hav... a clue... I told you." She smiled andfondled my cheek, then she opened the car and we jumped in. A fewseconds later we were on our way home.We didn't talk much during the drive. Most of the time I was lookingout of the window, deeply in thoughts. As I was again looking at mylegs, sliding my hand over the delicate fabric of the pantyhose, my. Sex was supposed to be locked up inside marriage. Sanitary napkins were hidden behind the counter. AIDS? Unknown. Sex toys? What do you mean? The sluggish, silent 50s—people didn't talk about sex openly, casually. It was embarrassing. Anal sex, lesbians, the kinkier stuff was only whispered of, almost as if such things were a fatal disease. Many people had no clue. If they did they thought such things were far far away and practiced by "perverts." And just because of that it was a great time to. But I had already paid, and I desperately needed some time off.I claimed one of the bar stools as mine and ordered a glass of St. Laurent -- my favourite red wine -- to aid me in getting into the spirit. The place was lovely, that much I had to admit. The walls were made from rough hewn stone. The soft lighting and light flickers from the open fire made me feel like being in ancient castle, and shiny dark wood and comfy looking, black leather couches gave it a cosy atmosphere.I splayed my toes. Stacy grab some dinner and headed home. As she walked in, she can hear her husband talking to his friend. He worked with her husband; he was a white shorter guy. Overweight and pretty annoying. As she walked by, she could see in his eyes her husband told him what happened. Stacy sank knowing that her husband was going to ask her to fuck him. “Hey Hun, how was work?” He asked. Stacy ignored him, put her purse away and started to unload the bag of food. Her husband slid over and placed his hand.
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