“You’re Harrison Jackson. I thought that you’d be ... older,” the man grinned at me as I got into the van with my stuff ... wait, who does val...t driving with a VAN?“I hear that a lot, mostly because I’m loaded,” I shrugged, “you are?”“Marten De Groot. Nice to meet you. That’s Marten with ‘e,’ not with an ‘i.’ I’m Belgian, Flemish to be precise. My wife, Nicole, is a Walloon, a Francophone Belgian. Hence part of why we’re here in America. Nobody here gives a crap about the old feuds that way.. She smacked his bottom."You can do better than that, lover." Ah, that's better." He gave her a kiss that left her gasping. She pulled him tightly to her laying her head against his chest. "Thank you, my sweets. I needed that."Things went quiet after that. The mob at Carlton Parva thinned out to a few diehards. Henrietta was able to visit them on Thursday without being followed. Samantha told her the story."Ugh!" said Henrietta. "I'm glad you didn't bring that rat home." No fear!" And," went on. They held me down and tattoos me against mywill. They ruined me." No, that's not how it happened. It was like a dare of sorts. Lets giveour Danni a tramp stamp to make him feel like a real girl. And did it?You said of course it I did. But if that wasn't enough, then maybe arose tattoo on the shoulder. Clearly feminine but you weren't saying noto that either. Sure, you were drunk by then. And I think maybe high onXanax or some other mood enhancing drug. In any event, you were. It was a pretty sad effort, my chubby tummymaking that accomplishment impossible. Erik's effort was even more pathetic. But, interestingly, I loved feelinghis hands on my lower legs. I didn't mind it when he seemed to linger abit on releasing his hold when the exercise was done. "This is the shits," Erik said as we struggled through the exercises. He had even more difficulty completing his sit-ups than I did. Actually,like me, he wasn't so fat; he was just very soft, almost girlish. He.