. I feel so stupid. I don't know if..." Come on, Hon. What's up?" I've always thought you were wonderful, Nancy. I've felt close to you for years." I ...now, Mary. Me too. I feel exactly the same way. But, I don't understand." Nancy ... the fact that I feel this way ... so unexpectedly..." Yes? What, Mary?" Does it mean we're gay? Does it mean that I'm gay?" Oh, Sweetie ... is that it? Is that what you're worried about?" Well, yea. I've never felt like this before. It's incredible. But if I'm gay. I massaged her head, her face and neck , her fat arms, hands, feet and calves with oil. I sat between her legs; she raised one of her leg, placed on a stool, pulled her saree and petticoat up. I was instructed to apply oil to her fat thunderous thighs. She then removed her blouse and bra, covered her breasts with saree pallu, I could see her shapely big conical firm taunt watermelon like breasts through thin saree. She asked me to apply oil on her armpits, raising her hands. I poured warm oil. Wendy’s quarter break was at the same time as mine and she spent hours with Melody going over the stock and booth management. Wendy could handle orders and take money—she was a pro at that with all her restaurant experience. It would be too exhausting to only have one person, though. I was really surprised when Amanda volunteered to work for us that week. Not that it was a volunteer position. We were going to pay her and pay her expenses, but the fact that she would be there was great. Rio. Jane was not yet as experienced a spy as her famous father, James Bond, and did not realize that all of her nervous behavior, instead of keeping her inconspicuous, was actually calling attention to herself. Fortunately, Wendy Warmcox was too absorbed in savoring her own gourmet Viennese dinner, and in her daydreams about tasting (not to mention licking, sucking, and swallowing whole) her husband’s enormous 10-inch shaft for dessert, to notice Jane Bond’s dinner-time antics. Leaving Wendy to.