I am forty-ish, and the white streak that I fashionably allowed to run the length of my ponytail has invoked a lot of compliments, particularly one wi...h the 'x' in it. I work out regularly, sweat a lot and work on my bike so often I can't get fat even if I tried (yeah, right!)A couple of months older than I, my wife Bets is slightly plump, with the wide hips and jiggling breasts that were so characteristic of the average fifties middle-aged female. Back when we were dating, she was a knockout -. Our tongues dueled. I kissed her with hunger. My tongue danced with hers as I trembled. She found my clit. It burst with pleasure. My bowels clenched around her digit reaming my asshole.It was good, but I needed more.I broke the kiss, panting, “A second finger! Please, please, Paloma!”“Yes!” she gasped and thrust a second into me.“You're girlfriend's an anal slut!” Ase shouted.I blushed. I was. I savored those two digits pumping away at my anal sheath. The velvety friction melted to my virgin. After reading them she looked at Ed quizzically."What is this?" she asked.Ed looked at her, "This is about all that I know about George Bynum, you and the murder. If I am to help you, you have to tell me everything that you can remember from the night you were drugged until last night. Do you feel well enough to answer a lot of questions?"Betty nodded her head and started. "As I told you George asked me to a party Horizon was having and he gave me a drink. I don't remember anything until I woke. Within a short time spell, she had learned far more from me than I ever cared to divulge to anyone, and I found myself groping for phrases to keep her from overcoming the last vestiges of my privacy. Somewhere through the gloom I remember cautioning myself that she was undoubtedly a professional, and more than likely, one with designs on my material assets rather than my physical ones. She called herself Mia although her dark eyes and flowing hair spoke more of a Mediterranean beauty rather.