”“Another difference between Perth and Scotch. We read no Faulkner.”“Is that good or bad?”“Who knows? I still find his Mississippi unfatho...able.”“Cozzens didn’t like him. He wrote that ‘Faulkner falsified life for dramatic effect. It’s sentimentality disguised by the corncob.’ And that was after Faulkner got the Nobel Prize.”“I think the Nobel Prize in Literature has been more political than critical.”“Probably true. Think of the important authors who’ve been passed over...”“And the trivial. I told her I could do a better job if I got in a better position and she said for me to do whatever I had to. So I straddled her legs and knelt on either side of her legs sitting on my own legs above her knees. Working her hamstrings once again she told me that it felt much better now. As I worked her hamstrings my hands would wrap around the inside and outside of each thigh like I was stroking my own cock. I stroked her thighs right up to where they joined her crotch. I could feel the tender. I could feel her wetness even through her panties. I rubbed insistently at those rubbery lips, the entrance to my mother's heated core. "I know it's wrong," I husked. "I know it's incest. But I need you so badly."Her weight shifted a little at that, parting her legs wider and inviting me to caress her more effectively. I dropped to my knees again, gazing at the dark patch at the crotch of her panties, stained with her juices. Parted by my fingers, her lips had drawn in some of the material,. He felt the wetness of Molly's sweet tongue between his balls; it sent a shudder through his entire body. She moved up slowly to the tip. She gave the underside of his head a few playful flicks before grabbing the base and sliding his entire length into her mouth. Well, most of it. Molly loved Luke's cock. It might have been too much for her mouth to take, but it touched all the right places when it was deep inside her. Luke lay there for what seemed like hours enjoying the feel of Molly's wet.