A grey man. He had an instantly forgettable face, neither handsome nor ugly.No distinguishing marks, no points of interest.A truly nondescript man in ...every respect.Neutral.A quick smirk touched his lip and was just as instantly gone again.Neutral. That was it.In the past he had blessed his eminent forgetability. It had saved his bacon many times, and once or twice, even his life. To able to blend in the background was a huge bonus to a man in his line of work. In fact, it was the reason he had. (and for their children - so they will understand)Born in the 1930s and early 40s, we exist as a very special age cohort. We are the Silent Generation.We are the smallest number of children born since the early 1900s. We are the “last ones.”We are the last generation, climbing out of the depression, that can remember the winds of war and the impact of a world at war which rattled the structure of our daily lives for years.We are also the last to remember ration books for everything from gas to. FUCK! Just thinking about it makes my pussy wet again.”“YES–YES–YES–Hawley. Fuck your cock up into my pussy. You have my cherry on top of your fat cockhead. NOW PUSH - FUCK ME HAWLEY - FUCK ME!”Early the next morning, Hawley was nonchalantly, leaning back against the wrought iron railing at the park entrance, waiting for his favorite jogging partner. He had a foolproof plan for her to slip away from the jogging trail and run with him to his apartment. His mom had sent him a text message, that. " It was good to break loose for a bit, wasn't it," Iris agreed.She brushed through her damp locks quickly and throwing her brush down onto her bed, she draped her arm through her sister's arm. "Shall we go and find some food now?" she asked lightly."Oh, yes please – I am absolutely starving!"They strolled into the kitchen to find their father already there, and making the most of a rather nice looking breakfast."There is just something very enjoyable about having breakfast at two o'clock in.