We’d missed a little background but heard Ginger saying, “So, your dad and I wrote an Open Marriage Agreement together. There’s a copy around he...e somewhere.”Jillian said with a touch of disbelief, “And you have sex with other people, like that man you kissed.”Ginger said, “Yes. That’s what’s really open about it. So far we’ve been far more active in that regard that I ever thought we would. It’s just wonderful.”“Care to explain that to me,” Jillian insisted.“Well, at first I thought it would. I looked innocent and clean in such a seductive way. Looking at myself was enough to get my blood flowing. Exiting the bathroom, I decided to skip the pajamas and just headed on down to the living room. My mother wasn’t going to be home for a long time, so there was no rush for me to put any clothes on. If it were up to me, I would never have to wear clothes. I much preferred the way life felt against my bare skin. I slipping into the kitchen and opened up the fridge looking for something to. “That your ass is magical.”She leaned over and kissed my cheek. We travelled down the hallway and she grabbed my robe a few paces from our room.“Please don’t hurt Jess too often.” She said. “But often enough that we get to have sex as your harem I guess.”“Do you like her?”“I’d marry her if she was gay.” Lidia said. “And I prefer guys myself.”“What about your son?”She raised a confused eyebrow at me.“I mean, doesn’t a boy, I guess girls too, don’t they need dads?” I frowned.“His dad is really. I asked him where he was from, and he told me that he grew up in the City of Minneapolis, Minnesota, but his parents came from Somaliland. And that’s how I met Omar Laban, the Somali-American stud from Minnesota. We exchanged numbers, added each other on Facebook, and started a friendship filled with sexual tension. At the time we met, Omar Laban had been in Canada a year and a half. His parents, Ahmed and Aisha Laban, moved to the State of Minnesota from their native Somaliland in the 1980s,.