Van Morrison is playing on the stereo, singing about magic and romance and dancing beneath an October moon.With my hands on your shoulders, I reach up...to kiss you, and before you can embrace me, I slide my hands down your arms and grasp your wrists, and gently, but firmly, bring them around to your back. Before you have any idea what is happening, you hear a sound, a click you can identify immediately. You have been cuffed. You ask me what's going on, and in response, in one swift motion, I. "You're a rebel," she said. It was not a question, but I nodded."My husband was not. Didn't hold with war at all, with killing."I told her my name and she said hers was Fran. "Francine actually," she said with a small laugh. "My mother rather favored the French. A Huguenot her father or grandfather was, I've forgotten which."We stood awkwardly in her back room. The house was quiet, and I assumed we were alone. She might have been twenty-five, perhaps even thirty, with a fine forehead, strong. Maybe it’s a middle-aged man who works down in the sewers fixing pipes and wading through… well… you know. These people have a lot to complain about and you think to yourself, “wow, their life must really suck”.So why are they always so damn happy? Never without a grin, always giving an enthusiastic wave and a “how do ya do” no matter what time of the day and no matter what day of the week. Life consistently gives them the shaft and yet they carry on like every day is the best damn day of their. She pulled off before he came and kissed him and he tasted his prick juice. After she pulled his shorts off she said he could fuck her wet cunt but she had to fucking piss first. He helped his mother undress and she spread her legs so he could watch her piss. She grabbed his prick and pulled him close and said he could piss too. She held his pissing cock with one hand and rubbed his warm piss on her tits, belly and hairy cunt bush with the other. Piss was running down her leg as he helped her.