.. , how do I address you properly?”“Why not with Ellen?” the young woman suggested. “I’ve been Lady Lambert for only four months, and I fee... strange being addressed that way. Are you a friend of Antonio?”“We are neighbours and friends, yes. Not that sort of friends, if you know what I mean.”“I know what you mean,” Ellen responded with a friendly smile. “Are you a painter?”“Yes, I was working with Antonio. You see, he sits for me, for my paintings.”“I have never met a female painter,” Ellen. It was my grandmother’s favorite saying when duty demanded more than she was able to give.“Good to be back home,” Darlene sighed as she spread her arms and flopped down on her back in the bed we had shared since our arrival.“Oh, crap! There are cobwebs in the corners and dust bunnies on the ceiling. Didn’t you clean anything while I was gone?” my companion complained as she wrinkled her nose.“Sorry; I was too busy missing you to mind the mess. By the way, I did the laundry. Your stuff is in the. She sat on her bed and looked at a picture of her Mom. Like her, her Mom was a loner. She had no friends either. Had she not been raped, she would not have had a daughter. Sighing with tears streaming down her cheeks, Petra wondered would they both have been better off if her mother had not been raped. She and her mother never spoke, never really talked. Her mother preferred solitude. She was a constant topic of the teasing she endured growing up. Now she lived in a retirement village in the. She moaned, ran her hands through my hair and pulled my face into her breast. I moved down to my knees and my lips traveled down across her flat, toned stomach and beyond. She shifted her weight to spread her legs wider apart. As my tongue made contact with her soft, velvety lips I looked up at her. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her head back, her breasts jutting out and her large nipples in full silhouette against the ceiling. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her magnificent.