" "I don't feel good about this," Mrs. Spade told us. "Your mother isn't even around right now, is she?" "She shipped out to sea as a cook," Teri e...plained. "We've been taking care of ourselves for almost two weeks now. We'll be all right until she gets back." "Two weeks," Mr. Spade declared as he looked at us in amazement. "You are something special... but we really should notify the authorities." "Frank, you're scaring the girls again," Mrs. Spade cut in when she saw the look of. Avery reached his hand out in front of him, cupping her crotch. "Your pussy's wet already?" he said. "Did you expect me to be dry? When have I ever been dry around you?" "You're like Pavlov's dog." "The moment you walk into my office, honey." Becky bent over and wagged her ass above Avery. The more she wiggled it, the higher the tent pitched below his waist became. "I see you like when I shake it like that, huh?" "I can't hold back—you're a smoke. That fat, tan ass; the way you throw it around;. I was a member of the bar, I could find work. I drove home, downed half a bottle of Johnny Red, and passed out feeling very, very sorry for myself. Sunday afternoon, I called my friend Walter, from law school, a couple years older and an Assistant Attorney General with the state. I asked if he could use a lightly experienced attorney with credentials. He could, I met with him Monday morning, and by Tuesday morning I was an AAG. For a couple of months I worked to assuage the sadness. I didn’t. I thought about the plans I made with my best friend to go shopping after work, the groceries I needed to pick up before going home, and the story line to my next novel. My alternate ego, R. K. Bishop, was a romance writer. It started out as a hobby in college and turned into another job. Much to the dismay of my fans, I only published one book a year because of my job and my business. A hushed squeal caught my attention. I looked over in time to see Marylyn hurriedly fixing her hair and.