When a kitchen smells clean that's a pretty reliable indicator that it is clean, as long as overriding smells like PineSol or bleach aren't covering t...ings up. I consulted with Wanda to see if we had a few things in stock like pork tenderloins, smoked sausage or kielbasa and frozen orange juice. I made dinner that night and the next, where we all pigged out on smoked sausage, sour kraut and boiled potatoes. It wasn't calorie counting stuff but nobody complained. I can run a slicer with the best. Mex, you’re a seriously class act. But I really want to find out how good an act. Please… please… take me to bed with you,” Milly paused. “I promise, you won’t regret it.” Mex stood stock still for a moment or two, his mind racing. He was rarely rendered speechless, either professionally or amorously. This was one of those rare occasions. He was, as they say are now wont to say, totally gobsmacked. Mex collected himself. “Alright,” he stammered. “Why not?” Milly too had recovered her composure.. No… please… what's wrong? I don't understand! Becca, ashamed or afraid, scampers to the door and puts her shoes on. Stacy stands in the middle of her room, panty-less, still holding the two glasses of whiskey. She turns to stop Becca, but it's too late. She hears the door shut. She shoots one of the glasses and swallows it with a pained expression. She sits on her bed for a moment trying to figure out what the hell just happened. She doesn't get anywhere. She only feels a pain growing. One of the biggest things my parents impressed upon me, was the need for an education. Now I wasn't the best of students, at least when it came to English. Math and the sciences were another story, however. My dad could never understand why the best grade I ever got in English was a 'C', but he never complained about my math. I spent my first five years of school in a one-room schoolhouse, with a real taskmaster. Mr. Donaldson was a strong disciplinarian. Fortunately for me, I didn't get hit.