The time we started the affair, she was around her early fourties. She was short highted, very fair, and heavy build. Her vital statistics was 40 d-33...45. She is a fat lady. From my childhood, I liked her. I liked her presence, I liked her as she was a very soft hearted person. And when I started getting attracted towards women, I liked her most. I never had a shame to say that I was always attracted towards the matured ladies, specially ladies who were heavy breasted, plumpey or fat. As I was. Her fantasies had progressively gotten more vile, but she was not sure if she really saw her father in /that/ way. “Huh,” she thought, tapping her pencil against her chin. “We both need it, and I know I can coerce him into letting me do it.” She looked over at the head maid, Katia, and felt her stomach churning with excitement. Bridgette finished her final equation on her homework, organized her papers, and told Katia to dismiss the maids for the rest of the day: She could tend to Oliver. It showed six when a small buzzer went off! Rose said that “the Duke was coming,” and sure enough after a minute or two the man appeared dressed in black executioners silk from head to toe. When he switched on by the entrance, the harsh electric light, which made us all blink, he laughed when I told him we had been in darkness overnight, showing me the bank of switches to individual spotlights and then pointing out chairs that would have alleviated the leg ache for the two. For my eighteenth birthday my mother gave me the best present ever. She went to jail for four years. Sure, she had been arrested before. Prostitution, drug possession, shoplifting, that kind of thing. But never more than a few days of jail at a time. This time she tried to diversify her revenue streams by selling coke to an undercover vice cop. Nobody knew where my father was. In fact, nobody knew who my father was. I’d gotten used to it. Now that I was on my own, it was time to celebrate. Dear.