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She would pat her tummy before she would slowly slide her hand under her T, upward toward her delicious breasts. Touching herself, feeling her war... chest. She would tell me how good she felt. She would tell me how hard her nipples were getting as she squeezed and pinched them. Caressing herself. Then there would be a long period of silence. A hand would slowly slide down to her waistband. I imagined hearing the bottom being unhooked and hearing the sound a zipper being lowered. I. It would go very well with thespaghetti and meatballs the still fit middle aged man with close croppedreddish blonde hair knew he'd find on the dining room table a bit laterin the evening. He smiled, thinking of how the pasta and bread neverseemed to bother his own figure, nor that of his wife who was stillquite shapely even at forty-one years old. He knew his wife would begetting home from her own job as a bank branch manager at least an hourbefore he got home from the coin shop he ran. It. More

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