Tyler moved in closer with the camcorder and recorded her now fully stretched butthole. Then they shut off the camcorder and abruptly dressed and left.... There was not any more sexual action for a few weeks.Then Tyler started showing up every Wednesday, with a different guy in tow. They would each have a turn at my wife individually and then double teamed her, one in each of her tights holes, as she screamed in both pain and pleasure.One time Tyler brought four muscular and athletic looking black. Meg traveled a bit for her job, going out of town for a day or two at a time. As I worked out of my home, I would pick up her mail, let the cleaning people in, and run the occasional errand for her. Despite the wonderful friendship we were developing, she was still as skittish as a kitten about any kind of body contact. As I had just gotten out of a rather acrimonious divorce not too long before, I didn’t even try to make our relationship anything more than friendship. I simply had been too. There's nothing wrong with fables and fictions.We need them and love them. But fiction's an art, and art doesn't mirror life; it mirrors the spectator. Spectators arereal, and if you can tell truth from fiction, you start to see the world a little more clearly.Fiction is my staple diet, but Truth adds much-needed fiber.The tell-tale sign of a true TG story lies in it's depiction of the evil and profane. Say aloud to yourself Moose Shuler's words: "Christ, women always bitch about you not. ”She sat back in her seat lifted her right leg and rested her foot on the dashboard and started playing with herself. One of her hands stroked and squeezed me, her other forming quick tight circles around her swollen clit, as I drove.Trying to watch the road as well as her, I turned onto I-84. We needed to cross over the Hudson River to get back. I could hardly watch the road I was driving 40 mph in a 65 mph zone.Marla said in a low sultry voice, “You really liked watching me show my pussy to.