He must be horny she thought. Damn the bad luck, she just took care of herself. She almost felt bad for thinking that way. Maybe he just called to say... hi and tell her he missed her and still wanted her. He asked her how she was doing. If she had thought of him and their time together. He wanted to ask her if she still felt the same way, but he held back. He wanted her. The sound of her voice when she said his name had made him rock hard. He toyed with the idea of having a little phone sex with. She was watching the Food Network of course.She was wearing a very smart, but conservative dress. She looked good for an older woman, and much less matronly than her usual appearance. Obviously prepared to knock Guy Fieri's socks off, I thought.The drive up to Windsor was quiet, though a little less so than normal. Mrs. Trinh was out of her shell a little bit tonight, and based on my meager familiarity, I thought she seemed prepared to enjoy herself.The drive on River Road to the Redwood. Let no one, especially some man-hating white feminist academic, tell you otherwise. What can a father teach a son or daughter that a mother can’t? A father can teach his son how to be a strong, confident, smart and capable man. A father can teach his daughter how to be a respectable lady who will respect a man and demand that he respect her in return, or else. A mother provides love, structure, discipline, comfort and nurturing to a son or daughter. But she can’t do everything. The father must. . . and her tits. Her beautiful, round g****fruit-sized breasts, swinging to-and-fro, slapping together, cradling my stiff cock and full balls as she prepared my dick so enthusiastically every time we got together.She really liked to show herself off, and to see what others had to show too. She was a secret exhibitionist, and a casual, cunning voyeur. She liked to take pictures of me, and for me to photograph her. Of course, she liked to post those on different voyeur sites, but she had even.