”“Which socks?” he continued, unsatisfied.“The white tennis socks, and the blue socks for trekking.”“Well, well....” he said in an impat...ent tone. “But the socks are not enough right? What do you need more?” I did not answer. He knew the answer, and I did not want to speak it aloud.“Right.” he said, surrendering.He stopped massaging my elbows and sat on the table, his feet on my lap.“You may. Go ahead.”I stripped out of my briefs and I started jerking off, while kissing and touching his bare. " Short biography," I said as a tear formed at the corner of her limpid eye."Indeed," she said. "I'm from up north, near the big lake, Champlain. Maybe I'll go back. My husband farmed here, tenant farmed." British are stirring up the Indians so I heard." Yes," she said, "I know. But, well, I've nothing to hold me here."I held her hand as the tear dislodged itself and slid down her cheek. She brushed it away. "Come," she said, "let's off to bed." She smiled at me. "I need a man." Fran," I said,. More

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