"Hey David." "How are you feeling David?" "Good morning, David."My response usually consisted of "Hey Leslie (or other woman, insert her name here)" o... "I'm fine" or "Good morning." Never more than a two word answer. Never a sentence that might lead to an actual conversation. I just looked at the floor and went back into my room to feel depressed. Quite a few of the girls, lesbian or not, adopted something of a mothering attitude over the poor young boy who'd lost his girlfriend in a tragic. Behind you, the door opens, and out walks your girlfriend looking beautiful in a way only she does best. Hair frizzed from the blowdryer, not a spot of makeup on, and not a piece of clothing either. Seeing you sitting on the couch she runs up and jumps on your lap, hugging you with her breasts pressing into your face. "How was work baby?" She asks, you mutter on about how your day went, not really caring about your answer or the question. She picks up on your less then elated mood and starts. I wailed as my orgasm flooded over me. Shondra continued to work her lips and her tongue at my slit. Her hunger made me grateful I’d given myself a fresh and careful shave; usually I’m content with a sloppy trim unless it’s summer and swimsuit season. I’d never felt such a wonderful mouth. I was in endless ecstasy. It was the difference, I thought, between a man and a woman. She knew what a woman wanted. I vowed that when the time came, I’d be as good. That’s when I knew what I needed to do. I. Like the Light Brigade at Balaclava, the 442d was ordered by incompetent generals to do a militarily impossible task and did it on sheer courage, at great loss to themselves. For this and many similar feats the all Japanese-American 442d became the most decorated unit in the US Army, including twenty one Medals of Honor. I used to think that my country had outgrown the attitudes that led to the internment of the Japanese-Americans. After 9/11 I’m not so sure. I’ve heard way too many allegedly.