I tookoff the coat as the padding in the shoulders made me sweat like a pig.I prepared myself for my weekly ritual. The shaving cream felt chillyagain...t my skin. The blade of the razor felt liberating.It was funny. I wondered if men who had a real stubble felt anydiscomfort while shaving? I imagined myself having a coarse stubble andthe joy of having to shave it. For me, it was the epitome of manhood.I spoke a few words. I forced myself to speak a few octaves lower then Iusually do when I am. The trunk popped open and silently rose behind his back.“You want your keys?”“YEAH!”I tossed them in the trunk, over his shoulder. He turned round and began to look for them. The interior was lined with that black stuff you get in every car, the fake wool. Only this was probably Peruvian Panda-ass wool, or something.“YOU MOTHERFUCKING...” he began. I reached over, took his paving tile of a phone, a Samsung Serving Tray or something, from his rear pocket and just bundled him into the trunk. Or. She was enjoying all of this. I had breakfast with her, still amazed that I had actually been so intimate with this beautiful, half-naked girl front of me, who's my sister, my Sangita didi. She looked at me and smiled,"After breakfast, let's go back to bed, brother, OK?" Sangita didi said, "I have something I want to teach you." whatever you say, Didi," I replied.We walked back into the bedroom, and Sangita didi lied back on the bed, and opened her legs. She licked the middle finger of her. As they rolled apart, I snuck quickly away, considering what I had seen, and beginning to understand why Molly had attached herself to me, as she had.I must confess, that what I had seen had given me a raging hard-on, which I proceeded to use on my wife, Pat; thinking, as I fucked her, of the glistening, wispy red bush, and pink pussy-lips I had glimpsed, when John raised his head from Molly's cunt.In the two years that followed, Pat and I drifted farther and farther apart. Even the bed part.
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