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“Perhaps you’ll stop living Friday to Friday?” “Talking of which,” said Jen, “I have no idea how to explain my… my pussy to my husband.�...� “Do you think he’ll ask for an explanation?” “I would have thought so.” “Well, as I see it, it’s nothing you couldn’t have done for yourself, is it?” “I suppose not.” “And maybe he’ll like it.” “I suppose so.” “Didn’t you say he likes you to be the dominant one?” Jen nodded and took a sip of wine. “Well then,” I said it as if that’s all I needed to say—that. Brown hair with bits of grey streaking the sides. Looking down on me he smiled broadly. Nice to finally meet you, Chris. He extended his big manly hand. I gripped his hand, and squeaked hello. His other hand clasped my shoulder and drew me inside. His house was neat and clean inside. Releasing my hand he moved he cupped my face in one big, rough palm. He turned my face toward his. Your cute. Not too masculine. Thanks. I replied sheepishly, dropping my eyes again. Relax, sweet heart. This will. More

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