This week, after the funeral of my sister-in-law (my age) we stayed in Lizz’s grandmother’s apartment and she stayed in the guest room upstairs in the retirement home. This first night she came downstairs, cold and sad and sought comfort between our old nakedness. I never knew that deep sorrow could so easily be transformed into a violent orgasm. Or is it the eager hands of me and my love?
Remember that start of that Dickens tale “The Tale Of Two Cities”? It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Well this is the tale of the best worst week of my life. Or maybe the worst best week of my life.
You can see that there's just one button too many undone and in that triangle of visible flesh you see a hint of breast, not a lot just at hint. If that girl is your own sweet wife, it only makes it all the more exciting