Either the floor really was rocking, or I was, like, seriously messed up. No, it was rocking; I could see the flowers in the vase rock too. OK – if ...t's real rocking, then maybe this was a boat. I'd been on a boat before – walking was just a matter of timing your steps to the rocking.The small door behind me looked like a bathroom door, and it was. I didn't turn on the light – bathrooms have mirrors, and I desperately didn't want to see myself. I fumbled for the toilet seat, lifted it, undid my. ” WHACK! I could feel my asscheeks burn. WHACK! It hurt but it felt good to. And I could feel my dick getting harder.It was then that the door flew open. “What the hell?” It was my dumb, jock older stepbrother. I hid my face and hoped he would not notice it was me.“What the fuck are you doing, Dad? And why are you doing it in Joe’s room?”He said, “I saw this hot fucking whore on the street. She was cheap so I brought her home to fuck her in the ass.” After a short pause he said, “Do you want. I am a White, Tax-Paying, Canadian Veteran, Gun-Owning Biker. That’s me!I am a Master Mason. I work hard and long hours with my hands to earn a living.I believe in God and the freedom of religion, but I don’t push it on others.I ride Harley Davidson Motorcycles, and drive Canadian-made cars, and I believe in Canadian products and buy them whenever I can.I believe the money I make belongs to me and not some governmental functionary that wants to share it with others who don’t work!I’m in touch. Then the mats and cutlery had to be positioned exactly, not forgetting of course a mat for the tea pot, hot water jug, milk and sugar. All that was relatively normal, I suppose, if irritatingly exact in how Miss Carson wanted it done. The blank stare bestowed on us by the mannequins as we worked made the whole scene feel very peculiar, though.The strangeness was made worse by the fact that Miss Carson insisted that we curtsy to each of our “guests” before leaving the room to fetch the tea.