“Good morning, and happy birthday,” my wife Alice greets me as I enter the kitchen. “Good god fifty today,” I realize. She comes over and give... me a chaste kiss on the lips, and hands me my coffee. “Now eat your breakfast, take your pills as we are going out.” “Where are we going?” “It’s a surprise.” “Okay,” I mumble. I look at her in her cutoff jeans and her tight T-shirt and wonder where, and when, the magic disappeared between us. Twenty-five years of marriage behind us, yet today we are no. However bizarre, I stood there with six big Moroccans in a strange house. Yet it seemed she did not uitwaren directly on sex. They did not really advances. It all came conversations going and there was all kinds of drink poured. It just seemed like a great atmosphere but I did not feel really at ease. Suddenly said one of those mocros "hey pull blouseje 'ns and go here' ns are horny white bitch". I felt just magically forced to also go straight to do it. Very strange was that. I was so in the. They were fit some of them though, them carpet munchers. Kylie, the peroxide blonde, pointed out that they'd be fiddling with boxes on video by the end of the night. It was odd, none of the girls had ever had lesbian feelings but the sight of the girl on the video being abused made them sexually determined to do something similar. Their collective nerve was failing though, where would they find the right woman? It was then that they spotted her and they hatched their plan, it was so simple, the. You stood at a slightly taller 5’6, and since your parents enrolled you into the same Swim and dance classes Stacy was in, you never developed much mass, instead getting a similarly toned figure. Any muscle you did have was focused around your legs, and unfortunately your ass as well. Hair also never seemed to be an issue, despite your mixed South Asian heritage, and Stacy always complained how such smooth, dark skin was wasted on a guy.Your bodies were so similar that Stacy would often borrow.