Of course, over the years, most of these nights tend to run together – every Saturday was the same. Except for one particular night, that is – a n...ght that stands all alone in my memory. After all, it was the night that Mom was shot. She certainly was not hurt, but if she reads this story and figures out which of her son’s shot her, that son might not be getting much in the way of Christmas presents this year. Confused? You should be. Let me start at the beginning. The year was 1972. We were. She held my head and was moving up and down and in a circular motion to get my tongue the taste of her vagina. She was enjoying and trying to control her moaning but as soon as I placed my lips on her pussy she said it loud “fuck”. I locked my lips and inserted my tongue inside her pussy and she started shaking her pussy so fast while pushing me inside. We both were so horny at that moment but were afraid that anything extra could wake up Rina.I put my hands on her thighs and kept on fucking. We’re leaving you the van. We’ll take Carl’s Cadillac to the airport.”Or not. Promptly at nine, the doorbell rang, and we opened it to find a pair of security people standing there with Henry. Out in the driveway I could see a small gray limo idling. “I’d like to introduce Joe Bonnano and Marie Telluride. They’ll be going with you to the Bahamas. In addition to your personal security, they’ll also be examining security at your home there. Joe used to do diplomatic security for the State. Sharon's Lexus was in the driveway, as was a Mercedes wagon. I told Billy to get the plate number off the wagon; it was probably Gary's. Billy wrote down the number while Arnie shot a boatload of photos of the house. Thank God for dark tint windows. We returned to the hotel, to make plans for Monday. I went back out past the house, and the wagon was gone. I called Sharon's cell. "You OK?" I asked when she answered."Yeah, I'm OK", she said."I'm parked where I can see the house, but he can't see.