”“This is all your fault.”“You’re the one who told me about the place and you’re the one who said we had to go. How is it my fault?”“Y...u’re the man. It has to be your fault,” she grumbled.Steve just shook his head. “Take some more Advils and get cleaned up and dressed.” He pointed her towards the bathroom.Brenda moved towards the bathroom slowly, grumbling at him as she went. On the plus side, she was over the worst of her hangover; he didn’t hear either his wife puking or the toilet flushing.. I discontinued my assault until you ceased to thrash on the countertop. You reached into the pocket of your skirt and pulled out your panties, draping them on my raging hard-on. "How long do you think you can keep this up?" you said with a wry smile as you rubbed the lacy fabric up and down my shaft."There's only one way to find out." I smiled back, my fingers dancing around her swollen clit. She briefly closed her eyes, enjoying the moment before unbuttoning her blouse and exposing a bra that. “Lunch sounds good,” Rita replied, flipping a lock of her hair back over her shoulder as she looked at me from her perch on my desk.“I’m thinking a late breakfast or brunch might be better,” I quickly shot back.“So, what do you have in mind?” Rita asked.I scooted my leather-backed chair closer my desk. I placed my hand on Rita’s bare knee and gently worked my pointing finger back and forth.“I don’t know,” I cautiously replied, inching my hand up her bare leg.Rita took in a deep breath and then. People would look at him and his drinking ways on Saturday night and wonder about why he always went to church on Sunday morning. Gregg had tried to explain it once to friends when he'd been married to his first and only wife. Actually it was her friends as he had few of his own as he was rather socially backward. And it was in the days he was an electrical engineer flying for NASA on shuttle missions, before he became a junk man, a garbage collector. He'd tried to explain to them that he.