“Jesus Debbie. Your cunt feels so good. I wanna slam you so hard and blast your insides with my cum. I wanna feel your cunt sucking me off”.“Ohh...Kenny I want to suck you off with my cunt. Are you ready to blast me”?“I’M CUMMING DEBBIE. SUCK ME WITH YOUR CUNT”.“FUCK ME HARD KENNY. SLAM THAT CUNT. BLOW YOUR LOAD”.We fucked so hard, my bed was creaking and shaking, but all I heard was the sloshing sounds of my cock churning up my cum inside Debbie’s tight little cunt. When my cum streams finally. *Once again alone in the house, the bell rang at the door. I opened the door and found a young man of slight stature. He said, "Meet me at the lighthouse." Whoa, who the hell are you?"He handed me a card which read, "Call Barbie." I watched him walk down the road to the lighthouse. I was inquisitive and followed him to a bench by the lighthouse. He sat down, and I sat down next to him."OK, now tell me what is going on." Mr. Bidwell, I was hired by your wife and her boyfriend to take pictures of. That was different! Image after image of thin-waisted, ripelyround girls, gorgeous, page after page of them, women whose bodiesearned and deserved careers and celebrity and the reverent, lustfulgaze of millions! All by not eating and then by displaying howvarious shapes of cloth could wrap their carefully exaggeratedcurves. All by showing how they could spill out of those pieces ofcloth in every direction and yet preserve their modesty! God they were beautiful! These girls are all for. I thought back. Once upon a time, back in the day, I’d been a ‘rocker’. Not really. I owned a succession of elderly motorbikes until I married Helen and we bought the house. She didn’t care for them, and they went, but I still had the licence to ride. There was no way I was going to buy one of the flashy foreign bikes, with terrifying performance. They needed far too much care and attention and I’d probably kill myself anyway. I didn’t want a small bike, either. I briefly considered a pedal.