The birds squawked and wheeled around my head, as if startled."Well why didn't you just ask?" said the voice."What? It really is that simple?" I asked...in surprise."Of course it is. Now, what is it you don't understand?" Well for one thing, who are you, and why can I hear you inside my head?" I asked."I am Charles, or Teàrlach, if you prefer the Gaelic," he replied, "I am your appointed teacher and mentor." Well, that makes everything as clear as mud then," I mused in reply."You have much to. “Would it kill you to clean up in here?”Finding gloves at a nearby table, Susan began the meticulous task of picking up the larger chunks of broken glass to be put in the bin while her hand reached out for a broom to sweep up the rest. Gathering what she could, to make sure no one would step on anything sharp, she was sure she got all the shards of glass and got a bin to dump It in.“Next time I should just put the thing on the floor, at least that way nothing is sure to… Huh.”Picking up one. I move my hands to the back of your dress, which falls to your feet after I unbutton it. I gently move your body so your back is now resting on the soft, warm sand. I then remove your bra, and continue to massage your breasts with my hands. You moan softly as my warm lips and tongue now take over, stimulating your erect ruby-red nipples. My hands are now free to roam and explore your body. I caress the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and can feel your muscles tighten as my hand approach. And I’m still healing from surgery on my side.” Even as part of a cover story, I blushed brightly at the confessions. People were far more sympathetic to the story of a cancer patient who lost all her hair to chemotherapy than to a woman who was allergic to her own hair so it fell out. “I am having such a wonderful time here—a celebration of recovery—I would hate for Mr. Rentz to discover my condition. He wants my hair done for the party. Can you simply style my wig?”“Oh, my dear!” she cried..