Here.” She readied the blunt and gestured to him. “Like this. Think about taking a slow, deep breath. Don’t stop until you actually feel it ente... your lungs. You should also get a little bit of normal air to mix with the smoke.” True to her words, she took a long, slow inhale, held it in for a bit, then released it. “Like that. Okay?”“Don’t fucking call me a square.” Phil said with a little more hostility than he intended as he took the blunt, and tried again. He knew the next criticism was. And she was going to teach me how to cook it. "First things first" she said, she put a small bowl on the table and put some Doritos in, a dish of salsa and she had a bottle of Tequila and freshly squeezed lime juice. "When you start cooking Mexican you have to feel like a Mexican if you want to do it right so one shot of Tequila is a must!" she said. Wow, after a beer and a shot of Tequila I was hooked on the stuff and I still drink it once and while especially when I cook Mexican food.She. I groaned.She pulled her knees up a little then, put her hands on my ass, and thrust back, as though it was a hint. I took it. I lifted myself and pushed again. Her body reacted exactly as it should, and we fell to a wonderfully frantic rhythm, forcing ourselves together and apart, sweat lubricating our bodies, sharply broken plant material preventing any sort of comfort.We pumped. Up and down. In and out. We didn't speak, unless moans qualify. I'd looked at her for weeks, and we'd only ever. Her hard nipples were pressed against my chest. I moved my hands all over her back. Mom moved her tongue on my cheeks and swirling it over my earlobes once in a while. It was so exciting.I held her close and moved her hand down. I started caressing her buns first and then pressing them. Mom’s body was hot now. She pressed her front on my already pulsating cock.I put my hand inside her underwear and slowly moved the back side down. Mom moaned again. I then pushed down her underwear and mom was.