The smoke plume was drifting over Main Street when Blackie reached the platform. There was only a family of sodbusters heading back east. Probably, th...y chucked it in after the long summer drought. The daughter, a pretty thing of about 18 kept twisting her hair and giving him a sideways look like she had a real itch between her legs. Since they were leaving, it didn't seem like it would be worthwhile to give the girl a tumble and he was waiting on Mrs. Primgrass. Mrs. Agatha Primgrass to be. Sitting up, she saw still more evidence that what had happened had been real. Her shirt was draped around her shoulders, ripped clean in half in the front, and it was still wet. Her hair, too, was still quite damp, the dark curls pressed against her skin were as disheveled as she should feel at the moment. But somehow, despite her confusion, the warm afterglow prevented any feelings of anxiety to seep into her mind. She just felt too good for that.After a long, languorous stretch, she sat up in. We went to her bedroom and we sat on bed and kissed her she responded too. Then I told her to remove her top. She was feeling shy so I removed her top and removed my too. Then I pressed her breast she said it feels awesome and told me to press more. I kept pressing her boobs and she was mourning and breathing heavily.Then I removed her bra and pulled her nipples it grew and pinched them slowly. She liked it so much and told me to do more and more. Then I push her to bed and climbed on her and. "Well it's his loss, believe you me," she went on. "And trust me, fifty years from now people will still talk about what a great actress Jane Wyman was and no one will ever remember Ronald Reagan."So it had went on, covering other subjects including the Summer Olympics in London to Dinah Shore and Perry Como's latest hits. Even hiding her head in the Saturday Evening Post did little to discourage the older woman. Finally the younger woman just gave up and began to stare out the window."Dear.