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We both undressed and I waved her over to the second chair by my computer. As soon as the Lord Darnley tab showed, I clicked it and told her, "Read th...s while I shower."I stood and rubbed my cock on her bare right arm. She flinched and shuddered. It amused me to watch her fight to keep herself under control. "Be right back."When I returned a few minutes later, she was deeply engrossed in the paper I had prepared for her. "Prepared" is not quite correct. I prepared the paper for a basketball. He kissed, hugged, squeezed, and patted her at every opportunity. It was nice, in a way, but it was also maddening.The boy was incredibly handsome and sexy, and his body was mature and very male. He didn't seem like her son. He seemed like a hunk she wanted to get her hands on. She just couldn't help it-her own son was turning her on like mad.So she was relieved when Dane, exhausted from his long trip and from jet lag, decided to go to bed early. That gave her a chance to be alone and to think. I will be there at midnight."================The night is dark, with a full moon rising. She is walking a path edged by dense, tangled bushes and trees backlit by the glow of the city lights. The air is damp, but the day's heat still lingers and she can smell the sweet earthy musk of the garden. She checks her time on her phone, looking at the glowing map showing the meandering route to her appointed place.She starts off at a quickened pace when there is a rustle of branches further down the. For some reason it often comes as a shock to see the painter of really delicate lovely images and they turn out to be a bony, angled gnarled old man with a crooked nose and yellow teeth. But it happens- it happens a lot. Kristin Slate, the painter who created Flower Women was a young college student with an neo-hippie activist sort of feeling about her. She was full of ideas about how the world should be, about patriarchy, about oppression, about women in all corners of the world sold into.
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