”“I do—let me finish. What audiences want to see, or rather what they want to know is that the poet performing the work has the credentials to b... performing that work. In other words, the poet has to be respected enough by his community of poets to be performing that kind of work with that type of energy, as you put it. We can’t just put a street poet up there, now can we?”“They do it here.”Preston rolled his eyes.“This is not national television, Claude. The poets who perform here will never. Her husband had now become a cuckold. In the privacy of their home, he dressed in her panties and was covered in his own cum. She had seen it when she got home.She looked breathtaking. A high waisted skirt with a wide black leather belt emphasized her big breasts. She had worn a 'shelf' bra and a crisp white blouse which she was sure would please 'Rod' whom she would always call 'Mr Elrod' in the office.She smiled at the thought in the mirror - except when he was fucking her brains out!She was. She heard the gate open and Jim walked into the yard. ‘I’m in the pool.’ She said. He walked towards her, his supple young body glowing from the heat. ‘Oh my god, he is yummy,’ she thought. ‘Come on in, the water is awesome.’ He watched her in the pool, she was wearing a skimpy yellow bikini, the water making her skin glisten in the dim light. He could feel himself becoming aroused already. ‘I wonder if she knows just how hot she really is?’ he thought. He reached the pool edge, threw his towel. When we stopped at a stoplight there was a car in next lane with three guys in it. Without saying anything Mary slipped her dress of her shoulders and raised up flashing the guys her breasts. Just as they noticed and started yelling about her ‘nice tits’ the light changed and I sped off. This scene was to be repeated four other times before we got to the turn-in to where Mary’s house was. ‘Pull over as soon as you turn in so I can button my dress and brush my hair. I don’t want to go in the.