It was not a demure blowing, no. It was a full-blown honker of a blow and somehow it made her relaxed and comfortable. Despite the high fashion, this ...as a down-to-earth girl and Natalie was in need of just such a woman. “Just another fight with my girlfriend. Probably one of the last though. Tired of her cheating on me like a bitch in heat,” the girl said, between sniffles. Natalie laid a palm on the girl’s thigh in an act of comfort and acknowledgment. “Been there, got the t-shirt,” said. But why can’t being sexually objectified be one of those things? And if we excel in one of those things and enjoy it at the same time, why can’t we specialize in it? Imagine a married woman with c***dren. Ask her who she is? You would probably get a reply like “I am a mother first, wife second,” and so on. Ask her if she is ever not a mother and get a big “No!” Well, by contrast, I am a sex object for my husband to instruct, use and play with first, with no close second - even if the second is. We drink and chat for a while, getting to know each other. My hands haven’t left your body since she sat down. On your thigh, or you back, rubbing your arm, gently holding your hand. I just need to touch you, to feel you there. She tells that she’s staying at the hotel that night and a little about herself. We continue for hours, until we’re surprised when the bartender announces last call. As I finish my drink, I ask the two of you, “Are we sure we want this night to end already?” It’s not. Not much after that but his family are extremely wealthy mother and father were murdered in 05 by his brother. Maximus got everything. House, business, everything his father built. Multiple investigations for supposed arms dealing and drug dealing. No arrests have been made since the witnesses came up missing or withdrew their testimony inexplicably." So he's a gangster?" I ask and she nods. "The most dangerous gangster this side of the country." She tells me but I'm not afraid of him. "Let me.