“Sandra R. Moore, Beloved Wife and Mother.”I don’t remember the graveside service or the wake that followed. One family member or another was at...my side the whole time. When it was over I went home, only to be completely reminded of her presence. It took three months before I finally allowed her things to be packed up. I’d taken the pillowcase she’d slept on the last night of her life and sealed it, bringing it out on her birthday and our anniversary, inhaling her scent until it finally faded. He then kept his hand on mom left breast looking at his watch saying counting the heart beats. Mom was completely discomfort but didn’t say anything. My cock started to erect with this activities and I am curiously watching for the next action and waiting for the fucking session. Now he told mom to show her knee joints to inspect and advised to raise the saree for proper inspection. Mom was struggling and he then himself raised the saree above knee and it was a most erotic moment looking into. Life was so unfair.And with that realization, I noted how silent the house had grown. Blood froze in my veins. Did something bad happen? Was I even more alone? Was mom dead?I climbed out of my bed and tiptoed to the door and I pressed my ear against its cold wooden surface. I heard muffled cries, barely subdued panting, and the floor creaking and I thought they were probably making up now, her legs around his waist and his hands on her mouth, keeping her silent. Disgusting, but life in general. Men of various ages, some quite young, almost c***dren, and others much older, graying and losing their hair. I had never seen so many different men. It frightened and yet thrilled me. Back in England almost all the men I knew were alike: rich barons and lords with fancy clothes and snuffboxes and abominable habits, or young playboys like William, eventually to inherit the family fortune and title. These men were vastly different from them, and yet all different amongst themselves. It was a.