Not even a steady guy. Just a nice apartment, a Jag sedan, and a great wardrobe. Sounds great, doesn't it, but it isn't. It just isn't enough. I need ...sex, and lots of it, and when I get horny, I don't want some politically correct suit to fuck me. I want a real man. Or group of men. You know the type. Construction workers. Truck drivers. Bikers. Guys who know how to give me what I really want, which isn't a fucking "relationship." What I crave more and more these days is hard cock and lately,. His theory was that if we became helicopter parents there would be very little chance that our children would become sponsors. He thought that they needed to be challenged and that they needed to learn to work out their interpersonal differences without us interfering unless there was some evidence of damage being done. I didn't like it entirely but I had to admit that Mandy and Missy seemed to be thriving on the various challenges the play place offered. That they were learning and having fun. "Hello." Were you looking for something?" Her question suggested 'someone' couldhave been substituted. She was dressed in a navy blue antique dress morelike the uniforms worn by catholic school girls from the 20s with aneckerchief tied in the fashion the US Navy used to use. She wore flats,and her hair hung in a tight French braid to her waist."No. I was just going to take a walk, scope the place out." May I go with you?" The question was soft, hesitant."Of course. But I don't know where we. The bulge of her pussy strained at the thin material of her tiny bikini. She dropped her foot to the ground and her other leg rose. She began to oil it now. “I KNOW you loved it when I fucked you John, when we were locked up together, helpless in that room. But do you think that gives you the right to buy me these tiny itsy-bitsy bikinis? Do you know me so well that you would think I would feel comfortable wearing this tiny bikini in front of you?” She looked very comfortable, to me, in.