"Twelve?" she giggled "Bit of an optimist, aren't you?"I shrugged, and chuckled.She pushed her self up out of the chair and moved toward me. She stood...very close. Her crotch was level with my face and only a couple of feet away. I could smell her sex, and see the clear outline of her pussy beyond the tight lycra. She ran a hand up her leg, under her t-shirt and massaged one of her tits. The nipples were poking through the soft cotton top.My shorts, which were pretty short, bulged almost. I had a new car, I was set but I hadn't been in Georgia long and I was in a dry spell as far as pussy was concerned. I used to ride to work with a friend named JJ that had transferred from Pontiac MI to Atlanta GA as well but he didn't have a car. During his time at GM he had always had alcohol and d**g issues but he was a functional addict. He could work a job. He had settled in an apartment complex, didn't have much furniture and was continuing to blow his money. Anyway, one Friday. Another chance for promotion probably won’t be available for another four or five years.” Rachael hugged her husband and said, “I’m sure you will make a great manager, the company needs you.”Willard told his wife that her appointment for an interview was for Friday at 4 pm. He then said, “Please, we need this promotion. Don’t talk about race or that you feel the company would run better without black people. Just don’t talk about black people.” Rachael grinned and said, “I know, this. Her response snapped him right out of his gloom. First she mocked his self-pity, then grew angry that he would even "speak the word divorce," and finally burst into sobs.His reaction was automatic; he felt a pang at his heart and his cock got hard. He walked over to where she sat, pushed her back onto the couch and lay on top of her, kissing her face and lips and tears. A minute later he was fucking her, his cock thrusting through his open zipper, both of them still fully dressed, the front of.