She painted everything. Walls, villages in Afghanistan, our friends. She gave out paintings to friends and as payment for big favors. Most of all, she... painted me. She painted me sleeping. She painted me reading. She painted me cleaning my M-16. And this time she had painted me right after fucking. I remembered, I was sitting cross-legged in our living room and she came in with just an artist's smock and a smile, her body still shiny from our sex, her taste still fresh on my lips. I remember. "My daughter likes her outfit so muchshe wants to wear it. Can you cut off the tags, please." Of course." The saleswoman looked approvingly. "You're very pretty,"she looked down at Josie, but she didn't answer. "Is she a model?'Her question caught me by surprise. I hadn't thought of Josie that way."No, she's very shy." I see," taking Josie's silence as confirmation. "Too bad, she's anatural." I need to shop for some underwear too. Do you want me to pay for whatshe's wearing first?" Oh, no. After a minute or so, I gradually became aware of the road vibrations travelling through his body and causing his penis to quiver delightfully within my vagina. I clamped my outer vaginal muscles tightly against the base of his cock and bent it slightly downward so that I could feel those wonderful vibrations against my engorged clitoris. It only took a few minutes of that before I felt my own orgasm swelling inside of me. As the feeling grew more intense, I clamped down on his sturdy young. At last, some ofmy old clothes back. Perhaps this may be the way back to normality. Ipulled out the socks from each shoe, which I had stuffed in them thenight before when undressing, and pulled them over my feet. I tied thethick laces of each shoe and stood and stared down at them. They lookedhuge without trousers, which made me return my thoughts to the rest of myattire.The front door was swung open and Aunt Joan had me by the arm and outsidebefore I knew what was happening. I turned to see.