She tiptoed up the steps to their deck. The cool water in the pool sparkled. The sun glared off its surface and she shaded her eyes.If Mr. Thorn was h...me, maybe she would ask him to rub lotion on her back. She was sure he would do anything for her.The house looked quiet. She walked around the pool a couple of times, hoping Mr. Thorn was in there and would see her and come out. Nobody came out. She went up to the sliding glass doors and leaned close, cupping her hands to the sides of her face to. "How old is she Bette, I don't want to be roped in for molesting a child?" She is eighteen and three months, well over the legal limit, well will you do it." I haven't heard her ask?" Glad, do you want this man to fuck you, put is penis in your itchy spot." Will he, oh great, Ill take off my nightie." Which she quickly did.How could a body like that have a simple mind? She was blonde and the dumb blonde jokes came to mind, but they weren't as simple as Glad."Why not Bette, but you had better. And then again. And again. It was slow and steady. Almost hypnotic. She appeared to be totally engrossed in the film now and seemingly unworried with where his hand was located. Had she given up?I glanced up to the screen myself. The film had moved out of the cinema and the husband and wife were walking through a field of long grass. I had no idea how they had got there. But who cares. They were now surrounded by a group of youths and the gang leader had just walked over to the wife and. After he eased off of the gas a bit the car settled down and drove like Roger always thought that a Ferrari would drive. The car seemed like an extension of his body. It seemed like all he had to do was think of what he wanted to do and the car responded. He and the car became one being and that being owned the road. Roger had a fleeting thought that it was impossible for a human to make such a machine; this car had to be made by the Gods.Roger pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and.