The complexity of its flavor overwhelms the palate, causing its layered subtleties to be lost on those unaccustomed to the vintage. Thus it is, that d...spite songs and poems being dedicated to this most ancient of arts, most would fail in sensing the difference between a fine French Bordeaux and a glass of common table wine. On first taste, many might actually prefer the simpler, less hearty bite of the screw-top variety. Alas, the failure of something so beautiful to be appreciated for the. There have been nightswhen you've been out with your girlfriends that yourpanties are noticeably more aromatic, with a couple ofincidents of moisture, rather wetness, left behind. Nocrusty sperm though. Not yet, anyway. I no more than close the door and you start in on me about howyour not being able to date is marring you mentally, howI'm stunting your social growth and on and on ad nauseum.You've finally done it. You've stepped on my verylast, exposed nerve. I see a flash and suddenly I. “That’s not the expression I was hoping to see.” Helen said, frowning gently. “What’s the matter?”“Nothing.” Jason said shortly.Helen stepped lithely in front of her son and slipped her hands around his waist. She leant in close and pressed her body against his - tilting her head upwards and giving him a warm smile.“It doesn’t look like nothing, dear.” His mother said softly. She flexed her fingers gently along his back. “Tell me what’s wrong - you’re so tense.”“It’s nothing - really.” Jason. Then I heard a noise. A shadow tiptoed into the room. It was hard to see in the extreme dark but when the shadow pulled the curtains aside slightly I saw that it was Sara's brother. He was wearing only his shorts and damn did he look good. What really amazed me was that he was obviously spying on the girls outside, on us, his bratty sister's bratty friends. He was staring out intensely and I could imagine the sight. A dozen young slim girls in bikinis, all oiled up, slipping in and out of the.