“I can cook, too...”“Look, you two. Dad can cook. Move this to Saturday, make it at MY house, and we’ll have barbecue...”I laughed. “You�...�re tossing your dad under the bus...”“Oh, he LIKES it,” Sandy laughed. “And he does GOOD barbecue...”“Uh, 3Sigma’s talking about a gumbo cookoff for next Christmas break,” I said. “Maybe we need a barbecue contest.”“Just decide what you wanna lose. Dad’s gonna win.” She smirked. “Dad’s serious about his cooking.”“So you got a good home life, then?”“Idyllic,”. That would be so hot.Then one day she came home and I knew she was in one of those moods. It had been my day off and she had been out with a friend. I was at my computer and she barked an order at me. "Get the fuck out of that chair, you pig, and lay on the fucking floor right now!" Living room sex, hot damn, I thought. I began to strip my clothes off and she told me to stop. "I said lay the fuck down, now! This isn't about you, it's about me!"I did as I was told and lay on the floor. She. Her brief stint working at the Gentlemen’s Club in Las Vegas was enough to make her ready for any contingency and she knew her skills would make any male in his forties behave like a teenager once again.The next morning was a Saturday and the knock on her door was more like a wake-up call with both of the Simmons bringing her a tray of juice and little croissants from the galley on their level. She wolfed them down sitting on top of the bed.Betsy knew the husband Ron was staring at her “smiley. Of all the sexual partners she had, not just in the stadium but elsewhere, not one of them had ever done it just for her. For all her skill at love-making, all her enthusiasm at fucking and all her athletic prowess, she had never properly filled that emotional cavity in her love-life.It wasn't until the following day that Lulu again had time that could be called her own. Before then, she was interviewed by newspapers, magazines, and radio and television stations from not only Kenya but from all.