Always suspected that it was Al Capone behind the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre, it was never proven and, although he admitted to it in private to ...his boys, he never confessed the crime to the police. On Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1929, seven men were shot in the back, gunned down, and murdered. Four of the men were with the Bugs Moran gang. The fifth man, was not a criminal, per se, he was the Moran gang bookkeeper. The sixth man was just a gang groupie, an optician, who enjoyed pretending. It was too much for this virgin to take. As we kissed sensually, tongues intertwined, I started stroking in and out, her pussy massaging me. Mom's hips responded and our strokes lengthened. We moved together, long, exquisite strokes, fucking each other, the pace slowly building, building, faster, urgency emerging. I felt my climax gathering strength, fuelled by the feel of penetrating her, of making love to my mother."Oh, David," Mom tore her lips from mine and gasped my name.Suddenly her. "Her name is Val. Isn't she sweet!" At this point he picked up the camera and brought it up over a bed. A hand pulled back the bedclothes to reveal a woman, fast asleep. My mouth went dry. I chocked on a cough. The others whooped and cheered."Hot hot hot!" One of the guys shouted. "This is more like it!"I racked my brain. The 5th of May. Where was I that weekend? Where was Val? I stared at the woman on the screen. It was definitely my wife. No doubt about it. What the hell was she doing on this. At length, after repeated fruitless trials, he lay down panting by me, kissed my falling tears, and asked me tenderly “what was the meaning of so much complaining? and if I had not borne it better from other than I did from him?” I answered, with a simplicity framed to persuade, that he was the first mam that ever served me so. Truth is powerful, and it is not always that we do not believe what we eagerly wish.Charles, already disposed by the evidence, of his senses to think my pretences to.