P. Wendy slept through most of the telling, until….} “COTTON, I SAID NO!” “MOM,” followed by knocking that rattled the door, “MOM, are you...all right?” Wendy stirred. Her right cheek aglow, reddened by the arm rest of the love seat during her nap. In my exuberance to relate the details of the night Mrs. P and I got caught in the sewing room, I had awaken her. Wendy gazed at me blankly, stretched and yawned. She had slept through my telling of the night Mrs. P and I were interrupted while sharing. “Shit! Hope she’s not riding mine,” sniggered Darryl Henderson.“Fuck me, whose horse is that?” chortled Dick France.“It’s one of the Aaaarabs! “chuckled Penny Mordaunt, the owner of Bicycle27, the thoroughbred racehorse with a stable name of Bike, Darryl trained and Dick was to ride in the six furlong dash at Goodwood. “She’s not a rider you silly chump, just a groom stable girl.”“I know that ... tell you what, I’m partial to a bit of flesh, she could ride me,” giggled Dick.“Yooouuu? You’d get. More

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