We still hadn’t spoken more than half a dozen words to each other, so it startled me a bit when he asked, “So where do you live?” “Pittsburgh...” I said. “I travel there several times a year,” he said. “We should get together.” “We certainly should,” I said. “When’s your next visit?” “Next month, actually,” he said. “It’s a date.” — When I got home the atmosphere seemed to have lightened a bit. My wife was less distant, less grim-faced, though she still didn’t give any indication of. There was the battle to get under the table and suck off a stepfather under the dinner table while naked and masturbating with food.These battles were all won by the mother, but not without the battle taking it's toll or the victory accomplishing anything, not when the defeated returns the next night and does it again only adding something else to fight over and be grounded for eternity for. Poor Greg was one battle weary ally after just a few family dinners. The call to arms, "Dinner is. It felt incredible.Betsy pushed my hips back, then slowly into her again, not quite all the way in. She gave me an intense look, but seemed to be trying to figure out some puzzle inside. I let her guide me in and out of her at a very deliberate pace as our breathing began to synchronize and we kissed each other on and off.Betsy’s arms trembled as she guided me, holding me just short of letting our hips collide, then pushing me just short of slipping out of her hot channel. I tried to add to the. When she came back she had changed into her black satin pajamasher stocking bunched up in one hand and her nail kit in the other."Time you learned how to do a manicure" she said and then went on toexplain the basics to me before sending me off to get us a glass of wineeach, "no beer for you you're on a diet from tomorrow"And so for the next few hours I cut, filed, applied cuticle oil beforepushing them down and then filing the nail surfaces smooth, beforebuffing and polishing with a soft file.