They were so ripe and plump and firm.“Damn,” the tattoo artist growled. “How old are you?”“Sixteen,” my daughter said.He glanced at me. �...Sixteen and with implants?”“She has to dazzle,” I said. “Now pierce her.”He shrugged.My daughter gasped both times. The needle gun pierced through her pink nubs one after the other. Then they were being threaded with silver rings. Each had little metal balls that screwed the ends together. They look cute on her. Impressive. How many other girls competing would. Even if he bumped into Emma now, she’d never want a man who left his wife and newborn baby for her. Even though this should be the beginning of his life with Lorraine, with him not in love with her in the way he was in love with Emma, his life was over. Difficult enough for him to have one woman on his mind, now he had three, Lorraine, his newborn baby girl, and Emma, always and forever, Emma. * * * * * With the ever more distant memory of her always on his mind, unable to stop himself from. We talked, but I couldn’t stop thinking naughty thoughts, my mind filled with pictures of him and my room mate.I was up against the wall, him pressed into me, His voice mesmerizing me. It softly pulsed over and into me filling me with even more desire. I looked at his lush lips and pink tongue and every once in awhile he'd do that Morris Chestnut bottom lip bite and my breath would catch in my chest. He must have sensed I was aroused because he adjusted himself in the set next to me and I. Soon their voices sang out in ethereal choruses of some ancient tongue which echoed through the mountains and reached into the souls of Sally and Ursyla as they too swayed unwittingly to the heartbeat of the sacred drum. They were entranced by the tableau, and the beauty of the ritual dance took away any fear they might have had at being helpless captives of this mysterious tribe so misplaced in time. The ring of dancers tore open the lacings of their skins and cast off their clothing, twirling.