“I’m not going to lie,” she said. “Kathrin is my friend, and she’s made me cum, and she’s made me cum even more often with her stories.”...I stood a little aside, at a desk she had put on the small stage for me, grinning embarrassed in my orange batik dress. She continued: “And Kathrin’s not going to lie to you either, when she reads her stories now. They’re straightforward, honest, raw and without sugar, so they’re best served with some pussy in your mouth. Which is why I’ll be underneath her. She was standing outside a boite that had closed two weeks earlier after decades of excellence. Like so many other things, it had been abandoned by the crowd simply because it wasn't "new." So few people can savor the ineffable allure of sustained quality.As I came up on the woman, who was impeccably attired in a simple, well-cut black watered-silk dress with white lace accents, it was clear from her stance that she must have not known the establishment was closed. She was stock still, one hand. Salma was a scientist by profession with qualifications from Harvard and Shanghai and she was working in Oxford for reasons rather more of necessity than choice."My home in Damascus was a place where one of the Israeli missiles struck. My parents, my grandparents, my aunts, my young son: they all died that day. Damascus still hasn't recovered. Syria continues to suffer from the Israeli invasion and the puppet dictator they put on the throne. My country was once one of the most democratic and. Michelle was pretty. Her shoulder-length medium brown hair had life to it, bouncing about her head as she walked. Her green eyes seemed to give life to her pretty face. Her 36D breasts very nicely topped her 25 inch waist and 37 inch hips. Michael and she had married five years ago. They had put off a family until they were better settled financially. At thirty, Michael was two years older than Michelle. They both had good jobs. He had become somewhat successful in the energy business. She was.