Ken crawled into the doorway and curled into a fetal ball.Is this all a cruel dream? Is all this happening in my head alone? Am I going crazy? Have I ...lready gone crazy? Was my dear wife sexually abused by a black man or was it merely my imagination gone wild? And did she enjoy it? Or is that imagined as well? Is it some cruel hoax being played on me? Or am I the one doing the playing?Ken shook his head and tried to make some sense of all that had happened. The more he thought, the more. He tried to look down but her torso, pressed firmly against his, was blocking his view, but he could feel her warmth and her pubic hair against his cock. She moved to Gary and did the same. But this time she raised one leg, and allowed her slightly damp pussy lips to slide the length of his cock. She skipped backwards again and bent over to pick up her knickers from off the floor, deliberately bending over in such a way that they both got a clear glimpse of her crack and a perfect view of her. The trail descended into a grove of trees. The thick canopy blocked out the sunlight and the jungle grew dark. The riot of bird noises all around them grew quiet.They stopped at the edge of a pool of water. In front of them was a tangle of thick, deep-green vines. Large and small tendrils curled in and out of the water, twisting and turning slowly. Some of the vines bore glistening, eggplant-shaped fruits in ruby red and emerald green."All right girls, this is our first stop," Whitney. By the second quarter the entire field was white, but it never got bad enough to shut down the game. But it did manage to shut down the airport.I glanced down at Tami beside me, then smiled at her mother at the foot of the table. "While I'm sorry that you couldn't spend Thanksgiving with your mother," I said to her, "I'm not sorry that you're spending it here with us."She smiled back."Like Mom pointed out, I'm thankful for football and baseball. Though I'd be more thankful if the damn.