Though he was still better than five miles away, we figured he had to be doing at least eighty. Jim and I grumbled to ourselves that he was out having...a good time while we were sweating our asses off moving furniture in a non-AC car. Seeing him have a good time while we weren’t put us in a nasty mood. He soon got within a mile and a half of us, close enough for two car guys like Jim and me to recognize the vehicle. It was a red 1969 Chevy Chevelle two-door hardtop, we had seen it cruising. There was a tiny machine shop in the corner, with things like drills, saws and stuff like that. In the corner was another door, with access to where the fresh water tanks were stored, the heating system and so on.Behind another door was the large freezer – stacked with enough food, they were informed, to feed them all for three weeks. Behind another door was a tiny first aid suite, just big enough for a bed, a chair, a wall full of drugs behind a locked panel and some basic medical tools. She. My name is Philip Rigby. I live in a small town in England not too far from Manchester. I'm not saying exactly where because I don't want the wrong people to know exactly where I live. I'm a pretty average guy I think. About 5"10 in height. I weigh in at about 170 pounds, and unfortunately its not all muscle as I have been letting myself go lately. I wear glasses for pretty much everything, have shoulder length blackish-blue hair for the past few months since I dyed it as I had enough of the. By that time, Duane had opened her belt and her pants, and his other hand was inside her panties, playing with Jessica’s lovely ass. She giggled at our eagerness. ‘I guess I picked the right way to thank you guys,’ she said, and raised her arms so I could pull the T-Shirt off and toss it in the direction of her bra. ‘But why are we standing here in the middle of the floor when the bed is so close?’ She was right, so we stumbled over to the bed. Duane had his other hand down the front of.