“Nope,” I said. “Another one.”This time as the clay-laden soil pulled back, it revealed the deep reddish brown of rusted iron.“That’s some...hing,” I said. “Lemme get the shovel.”I jumped off, grabbed the shovel, scraped more dirt off the top of what appeared to be an iron box, maybe a foot and a half wide and two and a half feet long. Raised bands reinforced and demarcated the edges. I tapped the center. Although rusty and buried for who knows how long, there was still enough integrity for it to. Once she found it, she rubbed it lightly. Debbie gasped and clenched her hands, groping for the release that was just out of reach. A few more strokes, and she burst, yelping, flailing her arms and legs, driven nearly mad by her need to cum. Patty sat back and watched her friend orgasm, a smile slowly forming on her lips. "I did that." She stated. "You sure did." I commended. "I'm so proud of you." While we were waiting for Debbie to return, Patty turned to me. "Would you do it for me?" she. It was colorless gray and completely shapeless, probably washed a hundred times like the jeans. It looked much too small in my hands. I had cut off the short sleeves toughly leaving bigger arm openings and then made a crop top out of it in phases, chopping it shorter several times until the lower half of my jugs was displayed when I raised my arms. I had torn open the top so it could fall off one shoulder easily and display cleavage all the time. Then I sat cross-legged and worked on the hem,. The very next day, Gerry called me to come pick him up, totally wasted. I was pissed; I asked him if he’d counted his drinks, like I’d said.”“What did he say?”“He said he did, but that he’d lost count somewhere around eleven, maybe twelve. He said he was sorry, but it was all just a fucking joke to him. I could tell.”“Try not to hate him, Alex. It was an addiction.”“I know, and I don’t hate him… well, sometimes I do, but then, next minute, I love him and miss him.”She nodded. “I get that. Me.