Not that Lorenzo had seen. Hardly any at all. But Brandon told him all he knew. It had happened up in Greenwich Village across town from where Brandon...lived on the Lower East Side. He had been there the night the shit hit the fan in the early hours of June 28 in 1969. It had been the same old crap from the cops as happened all the time. But this time people had just said no way. It was going to stop. And they didn't let the cops do whatever they wanted to do like before. This time was. It was during this time that another one of Constance Spooner's friends named Lenora Quiller gave me a fiddle (of course Lenora called it a violin) as a gift. Miss Lenora was the oldest of Connie's friends but she took no back seat to Connie or anyone else, in the affairs of the boudoir. Miss Lenora loved to pamper me and I ate it up as if the attention were rock candy. Lenora gave me a few rudimentary violin lessons and from the minute I held the fiddle in my hand I had an affinity for it. I. We set our boundaries at me sucking him of, arranged a place and time for the pickup and that was that.I was dizzy with anticipation, lust, and the thought "holy crap, what am I getting myself in to". This guy was going to pick me up in his car. If he wanted to, he could do whatever he wanted with me. I had chosen a crossroads where he could pick me up, and a few minutes before the agreed time a grey Volkswagen pulled over next to me. I didn't say a word, stepped in and felt like a cheap whore.. Marsha flew to the bathroom to shower. As she soaped herself she noticed that her nipples were hard just thinking about her visitor. She ran her hands over her perfect breasts and felt the heat begin to pool in her pussy, she had to will herself to calm down. Ten minutes later she stood naked before the large dresser mirror in her bedroom and blow dried her long hair. Then it was time for makeup. She didn't wear as much as she did when competing. She didn't need it. Once satisfied that she.