Still he sat. He had opened a bottle of whisky, but had poured only one glass and had merely sipped at it.Perhaps he would never drink again. Perhaps ...e would never consume food again. Perhaps he would deny himself these things so that his remaining existence would be rather short.If he had been a religious man, then he would definitely have determined upon that course, confident that she would be waiting for him. But he was a doubter, and could not be as certain as he needed to be that death. "Something funny?" Peter's voice broke the silence.Dulcie giggled, "I was being a schoolgirl, determined not to be the first to speak. Then, I began to think I was being ... childish. So. Are you going to tell me what you think we need to talk about?"Peter had smiled at her words, but then frowned again, and said, seriously, "I was sitting here ... praying ... and trying to decide how to say what I want to say..."Dulcie cocked her head. "Why not just... 'spit it out'?" Because I need to. I awaited the wash of prana that Lang’s past albums had given me. But it simply didn’t happen. After moving out of our apartment, briefly into jail and then into my Mom’s spare bedroom, I finally got to listen to this holy grail of music. It was beautiful, complete and at peace with the world, just like ‘The Napoleonic Age.’ And I am not beautiful, complete, or at peace with the world. I am still an angel with a broken wing and I still consider Napoleon a brother in arms against the mediocre,. She was standing in front of me asking to see my stiff cock; she looked like a kid on Christmas. I lowered my pants and slowly pulled my boxers to the floor with the pants. As I lowered them, my cock was being pushed down and ready to spring out at any second right into my sister's face.My dick sprung out from my boxers, and my sister had a shocked look on her face.“Oh my god, it’s so big,” she exclaimed.She grabbed it with her right hand and knelt down in her skimpy cheer outfit. My sister was.