Don't blame me ... it's what sailors call it. Unless they call it foul weather gear.So she's minding the helm when we hit something."Errk," I said.The...kids came running out on deck in their wet gear. "Daddy ... the keel hit something." I know that," I said. "What is another question entirely."What ever it was we were scraping it ... still.Finally ... it stopped.Wendy and the kids went below to check the bilges..."No leaks! The bilge pump hasn't run in days." Maybe it's plugged?"While we were. In high school, I was totally crazy about her, and I reminded her of this fact in one of my messages. In one of her emails, she told me that, when asked by some of our classmates at the reunion what her #1 favorite memory from high school was, she said making out with me in my Chevy convertible! But, as with all adolescent relationships, this one came to an end. However, I can't escape the thought that the certain something that we shared way back then has been rekindled, in each of us, and so. Were she to appear within your visual field of view your eyes could not help being drawn to her tall statuesque frame, long dark hair and striking facial features. Having seen her, literally the first reaction that would pop into your mind is “Wow!” To say the woman is beautiful begs the limits of understatement She is more than that. She is a constant and dangerous distraction. She cannot walk into a room without all eyes going instantly to her. If she walks down the street she doesn’t just. Several womenmade lewd comments as she passed wanting a turn withher latter but Melissa would tell them she was hers forthe moment and maybe later. Her continued swats on herass kept her moving till they returned to the bar andMelissa got off.“Is my slut thirsty again?” Melissa asked.“Yes mistress. Slut needs a drink.” Joan gasped inrelief.“Bend over the barstool slut on your stomach. Mabel.”Melissa turned to the older woman; give me that smallsample bottom.