Support and one with the boss and all took their toll. By the time four-fifty rolled around he was ready to go. He packed up his briefcase and headed ...ome.He fumbled through his drawers. He wondered what a masseur would wear. Finally he settled on a clean pair of khaki pants and a snug-fitting polo shirt. He stopped and bought a couple of bottles of scented massage oil at a bath and body store on the way. He pulled into the parking lot of the Baden Spa just before six."Can I help you?" the. Peterson is me! - I still blushI learned from her private messages that she modelled that chap Petersen to the image she had of meIndeed my apartment is a bit similar: shelves with books everywhere, many with erotica and sexuologyI have - like good old Peterson - a private collection of more explicit erotica in a special backroomI have there the old printed porn and even some spanking magazines and vintage books about the subjectI started to pay back my debt for this tribute and her lessons in. I learned to garden, and cook. Everything we did was together. Every moment was about her and I. Even work became a game. Carrots became swords and wet fingers became water launching weapon turrets. We laughed and played, and over the years I grew. I don't know at which point my aunt became less important to me, but I became obsessed with a young lady at my school, while in my teens. Summer's at my Tante Belles ceased, as separation from my beloved girlfriend was horrific to imagine. . You kept topping me up.” “I only topped up your glass. I didn’t stop you going to the toilet.” “I was enjoying myself too much. I didn’t want to risk losing you by going back into the house to use the loo.” “You were dancing from foot to foot. I thought I was making you nervous.” “You were making me nervous. I’d met a gorgeous hunk…” “Don’t forget funny…” “I’d met a gorgeous funny hunk. Someone who I actually enjoyed spending time with… who gave me butterflies and then suddenly those.