My wife has a scar on her chest, where her right breast used to be. She was too young and too healthy to have breast cancer, but apparently the breast...cancer was unaware of these prerequisites, and attacked her anyway. She has always had beautiful breasts, and I a committed breast man. I remember sitting there in the doctor’s office thinking that I was going to smash the face of this quack for frightening her (me?) so much with this rubbish. I remember how helpless I felt. I remember how calm. I have another drink so I gladly accept his offer for dinner so I can absorb some of the alcohol. We go to a booth in the corner and he sits very close to me. Almost to close but the alcohol is having an effect and loosening me up a bit. During dinner he talks about his life growing up in Detroit and his life after football. He has lots of funny stories and I find myself laughing a lot and enjoying his company. Somewhere during dinner we finish off a bottle of wine and I realize I need to go. She was wearing a black bra that matched her g-string. Although Jen was not overly busty her bra was a bit on the small side. I was very reluctant to remove her bra even though I noticed then that there was a bit of vomit on it. I didn't want the vomit to stain the bra like it would probably stain the polo work shirt. Luckily it was one of those front clasp bras and it was strapless it wouldn't be too difficult to get it off her.I undid the hook and it popped open exposing two of the most. I moaned quietly and he snaked a hand down the front of me and parted my thighs.He gasped as his hand found the wetness between my legs and I felt his cock twitch against my back. He grazed his fingers lightly over my pulsing clit and I spread my legs wider, lifting my bottom off the rug as I did so.“Lay down for me, Baby,” he said and pushing back the throw I lay naked and exposed to him on the rug. Kneeling over me kissed me, tenderly at first, soft lips, gentle tongue. Before long, his.