As much as I could reach any conclusion, I knew that I wanted to have the chance for more fun, so at least I could feel that things were more even bet...een Maggie and myself. Maggie had agreed to this before we had separated. It was unfinished business. But how would we reach an agreement? And did Maggie even want to get back together?I took my time getting up, showering and getting dressed. I went to buy a Saturday paper. I remembered that part of the weekend ritual for Maggie and me was to. She doesn't stop as you shift, obviously awake. In the dim light of early morning you can make out her legs next to your head and her panty-covered pussy inches from your face. You're still wearing your t-shirt, but you can feel your boxers down around your thighs.This has never happened to you before (any of it) but you dive in, hoping to make the most of it before the dream ends. You move your arm around her bottom and draw your face to her panties. They are skimpy and satiny and you smell. You're right. Your daughters lived to party another year. But let me assure you, you've raised a hot little pistol there, Mom and Dad.I want to thank the parents of the daughters of the Midwest. The meat and potato fed girls of North and South Dakota. The corn fed darlings of Minnesota, Nebraska and Iowa. The lusty sisters of Notre Dame. The milk maids of Wisconsin. The Hoosiers of Indiana. And although Ann Arbor is a whore, thank you for the girls Michigan — future assembly line workers all of. The bed was waiting. Breakfast first, flavored with anticipation. George had cooked breakfast, a special one.“Sit and drink your coffee,” he said. “I’ll fix your eggs. Sunny side?”“Sunny side. Just one. You’re spoiling me.”“I was up first. Celebration isn’t spoiling; habit is spoiling. Anyway, you’ve cooked me more meals in the last month than I’ve cooked you in the last two years. Am I spoiled?”It was a miracle that he wasn’t, wasn’t quite. And it had nothing to do with her actions. “I take.