Nor was I a saint—certainly not a saint! There had been young women when I myself was young and a student, and there had been older women when I my...self was older. Some of those women were beautiful, some of them not. Some of them I’d bedded, some of them not. Some of them I’d loved, some of them not. Some of them had loved me, some of them not. The four divisions hadn’t been the same, needless to say. Except maybe for the last two. When I was younger, those two had lined up with each other. After they dressed and went home I slipped away too and drove home. When I arrived home Dad was already gone, but Mom was waiting for me. She wanted some training from Dominique for herself and wanted me to introduce her.I called Dominique and she invited us both over and told us to bring Sir Galahad. When we arrived, Dominique was in the backyard and naked, waiting for us. Sir Galahad ran right to her. That afternoon Mom learned everything that she had wanted to learn. Mom wore poor Sir. She was blessed with a DD-cup full of white perky, full breasts with dusky pink nipples that began to harden under the powerful office AC. They tightened up to the size of gumdrops, and it brought a shiver down her spine. He whistled in approval as he lazily began to run fingers up and down the shaft of his dick.She was so unused to being watched so intently that it made her hands start to shake as she undid the zipper of her skirt and wiggled out of it. She had wide hips and a round firm ass,. It made her nervous. Richard hung out with some older men, and even Jennifer's mother, who wasn't too critical of Jennifer's friends, had said that she didn't like "that Richard or his questionable friends." "I don't know, Rach. Wait till I ask Mom." "Oh, you chicken. Why do you always have to ask your mother?" "Because!" Jennifer said, slamming the phone down on the table, and storming out to the kitchen. "May I go to Rachael's house, mother?" she asked, her tone belligerent. Her mother.