It was a beautiful evening and the dinner was delicious. The conversation was animated, as we talked about our work. Rachel sat next to George and I... sat opposite. George talked about his work and also mentioned that he took part in gay movies. This really interested her. “Are you giver or a receiver?” she asked without any inhibition.“A receiver”“Just as well. From what I’ve seen and heard, to have that thing up your backside could cause considerable damage. I certainly wouldn’t want it. Robbie Kincaid was in high spirits, not to mention well on his way to a hang-over in the morning with all his drinking and celebrating. Not only would he inherit one of the greatest fortunes in the Scotland highlands but he had been promised the hand of the one woman that he knew would rather spit nails at him than be held in his arms. That was fine with him … he rather liked a challenge and looked forward to the night that he could tame the wild rebellious side of the beautiful Scottish. She loved to suck cock. Then I asked where Melba was buried and Mindy told me the name of a small country church that Melba had attended for years. When I told Mindy I wanted to go there and pay my last respects but didn't know how to find the church she told me to meet her what had been Melba's home and she would take me to the church. I agreed to meet her. I met Mindy at what had been Melba's home and she drove me to the old country church which had a cemetery just behind it and off to one. Rasping harshly for breath through her flaring nostrils while her tautly stretched body beads with perspiration, arched out and practically vibrating across the front of the apparatus, tears well, drip from her chin across her heaving sternum. Sensing footsteps approaching across the stone floor, blinking two, three times to clear the tears, she tries to focus on the silhouette of what appears to be some sort of a dark robed monk out of the corner of her eye. Apprehensively following him.