How he hated this Sunday each year, hated the march of veterans, but was drawn in some morbid fascination annually. Each year, he observed the file of...crippled soldiers, long since passed their usefulness to a society, doing it's best to forget for the other three hundred and sixty four days, except in the glorified films of heroic deeds with John Wayne, or another popular actor, leading a squad of crack troopers into an impossible confrontation, overwhelming odds, somehow beaten at the loss of. When Julie opened the door, she saw that Jim was obviously worried about something. Normally he was joking and smiling all the time. Now he sat behind his desk, his forehead wrinkled with worry and his fingers tapping nervously against the top of his desk."Shut the door and come over here, Julie. I don't want Bertha hearing everything we say," Jim said softly.Julie suddenly felt cheap and guilty before her husband. Now looking at him, she was a little sorry for what had happened this morning.. That you never do.Everything froze. Or if it didn't freeze exactly it was like watching aDVD frame by frame to see if you could actually see Sharon Stone'scoochie-coochie during the interrogation scene from Basic Instinct. Notthat I ever did that. But I'm sure others have. Perverts.Anyway, everything slowed down, except for this little nebbish of a guywho was suddenly sitting on my windshield. I looked to my right and mywife seemed frozen just as everything else did. A glance in my. I didn't know when Bill had started to channel the Energizer Bunny but I was not going to complain at all as I had my second orgasm and then a third when he raised himself onto his hands and slammed so deep inside of me I thought he was going to split me in two as he screamed."Oh Jennifer!"Bill barely managed to roll onto his side after he collapsed on top of me, letting me spoon with him. Well, and let me breathe too. He's put on some weight over the years but I'm not the college softball.
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Kramer, it’s your husband...”“But he didn’t do anything, either!”“Oh, yes he did!” Wellington insisted. “He was Ken Carlson’s execut
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