So fantasizing about her didn’t seem all that bad, just a little wrong. My incestuous fantasies about her only started to seem wrong about a year ag..., when dad died.I still remember that day, or rather that night. I was working in a different city and rushed home immediately as I heard the news. I only hoped to reach home before the sun set for the day. My relatives had made the necessary arrangements and as soon as I walked into the house, we moved the body to the burial grounds while there. But how should she do that while she was racing, the bike fucking her senseless, with a camera pointed right at her face? She quickly thought it through and decided it was worth a shot. She sped up a tiny bit and drove as close as possible towards the racer in front of her. That way the camera would only partly see her and she could slip those bands over her melons without them noticing. She extended her hand down and grabbed the bottle. Then she recognized her error. She would need to use both. But it had been weeks since they had gone to the Enchanted Place, maybe months. Although the couple used to enjoy oral sex, Steve couldn’t remember the last time June had given him head. Since she was so unresponsive, Steve had stopped going down on her in retaliation. He knew it was silly, but his pride was damaged and he didn’t know how to repair it. Worse than that, Steve had started surfing seedy chat rooms to relieve his constant horniness. There, he occasionally made arrangements to meet. I could use short stakes to join the rows together. Would I make the walls from solid timber, perhaps four inches thick, or would I now build a timber frame with wattle and daub between?We didn’t have cows nor horses to get dung for the daub, but we had plenty of deer and elk scat we could collect. That might work. Would that be faster? Would it be warmer?In the end, I elected to build the walls from the big, thick timber planks I was splitting. The walls would be at least a palm thick, so.