You better believe that after we heard your mom making herself fucking cum, I think I've done it like ten times since then."I was trying to decide wha...t I should do next when I heard an unmistakable sound ... a zipper."Andy, seriously?" I heard my son say. "Now?" Why not?" Andy replied. "Your mom's not home. Doesn't talking about all this give you a hard-on?" Well yeah, of course, but ... Ah ... what the fuck, huh? Why not?"Then I heard a second zipper. Oh, fuck. My son was gonna take it out.Ten. ”“Don’t tell me that, Cindy, you’ll put wicked thoughts into my head.”“I certainly hope so,” I said. “Can I get the cups down? I know where Pat keeps them.”“Of course, and thanks.”I turned sideways and stretched up on my toes to get the cups and saucers down from the cabinet. From the corner of my eye I could see that Mr. Richardson had discovered just exactly how big the arm holes were on my tee shirt. He quickly took a step to his right, which I hoped enabled him to see that my nipple had. "Nowhere special, just someplace empty where no one can get hurt except you or me."I stepped in and took a good swing, knocking him back thirty feet, flat on his metal ass, where he slowly came to a halt after skidding across the dry and dusty flat. He jumped up immediately, roaring in anger. I ran over immediately, with no intention of waiting for him to decide it was his turn. He surprised me by grabbing rather than punching, and with a spinning throw that any Olympic hammer thrower would. I spent the Civil War years in Boston. In one sense, it was a good time. The Union navy cut off trade with the South by blockade. That meant even more goods traveled over means which I had investments in. I made good money in the war. There were also many widows of the war, women used to feeling a man and desiring that experience again and again. There were also many women whose men were away at war and they too felt a longing which only a man can fill.But not all was perfect. In 1864 the war.