” Becky laughed, “I think I get your meaning,” she said. “No. Ian will probably watch at times but there will be no participation.” “No ...orries,” he told her. “I have no hang-ups about anything, so if you do change your mind...” I didn’t quite catch on what he was talking about, “What do you mean by helping out?” I asked him. Malcolm looked at Becky and then looked at me. “Hmm...some husbands like to guide it in,” he said. “Some like to hold their wife’s legs up for me and....well...some. ................ Just after lunch the next day Ron calls and asks if he can come over, he wants to talk...................................................................................... ........... Ron speaks; “Hey man, how’ it going.” “Good, good.” I reply. “How did things go for Bart last night after we left?” I ask Ron. “Ok Ray. He said Cindy took awhile to appear but seemed ok when he saw her. He said she smiled at him that was it.” “Let me get on with. As Jen had sat masturbating at her workplace toilet, she had visualized Gregg making passionate love to her inside some of her favorite paintings. The painting she had saved in her mind for "that special moment", her orgasm, was one called "the proposal". In it, Jen had painted a very pregnant woman in the 1890's period, complete with parasol, sitting on a rock near a pond, with her suitor down on bended knee in front of her, head down, holding her hand, his throbbing, pale erection hanging out. I could feel her saliva lapping up the precum I had released but I couldn’t feel anything else, time stopped. I had stopped time with my seed and it was plastered all over her face like Picasso’s finest masterpiece. It was nirvana and for all the times I had come before in my lifetime her mouth sucked me dry. I’ve had hand jobs and I had jimmied myself before but nothing like that had happened. The door shook behind me as someone on the outside was trying to get in and just like that panic took.