One should not spit into the wind. Yes, even me, for as you know I’m trumpet player – I have awesome lung volume, and could suck the air out of a ...acy’s balloon float, or blow down the little piggies’ straw and twig houses, maybe even their brick house too if I huffed and puffed enough. If I were the more vulgar type, I might be dominating my age category in the Spitting Program International Tournament (SPIT) (50 and over, non smoker), riding from one venue in the Ozarks to another until I had. His face comes towards you through the steam but you are too out of it to focus on anything. He kisses you with a deep french kiss and His softening cock slips gently out of your asshole. As He breaks the kiss He asks, "Can you stand?" You can't speak so you just kind of nod your head and let your legs release from His torso. He holds you up and kisses you again... deeply, passionately. You love the feel of His stubble on your smooth face, His hairy chest against your smooth chest, His naked. She gasps and arches her back, but I don’t let her out of my control. I quickly pay the same attention to the other nipple, taking it in my mouth and flicking it with my tongue. She’s holding her breath now, and exhales heavily as I pull her nipple out of my mouth. I steal a quick glance at her face. It’s full of pleasure, her eyes closed. It turns me on even more seeing her like that. I put the first nipple back in my mouth and grip it lightly with my teeth. She grabs my head and holds on. But what about Mother? She was forty-nine years old, but looked younger. That wasn't always the case. The years after my father's death and the period of my imprisonment had aged her far too quickly. Somehow, the last six years had restored her appearance, and the smile on her face took years off her. I hoped that sometime in the near future, she would find someone to share her life with. She deserved that and more.--I hadn't talked with my sister for some time. That evening wasn't the ideal.