You stop at my small village. I run a small guesthouse where you stay. That night the two of you come out where I am chopping some wood. I had no shir.... The two of you say hi to me and sit in the chairs nearby. As you watch me, you feel a stirring between your legs, a heat spreading in you pussy. Your pussy becomes moist. The flicks that you watched with your husband comes flashing through your mind, those well hung black guys. You wonder if I was hung like that. I finish chopping and come over. Pansy's would be the onefamiliar face set against the scores of others soon to come crashing intomy life.Towards this upheaval I sped, north and east, the Yorkshire coast comingcloser with every bridge, gate and bush that flashed past. I thought aboutClare Corrigan, and whether we'd get on. I thought about the Sunday lunchmy mother would be preparing for two instead of three. I thought aboutLisa, wondering if she was thinking about me.It started with a station on the edge of an industrial. More

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