At the end of the block, Jack climbed into a taxi and gave the driver an address in the Fifties. Now he was thinking of last summer on the Sound, Harry Gorham's boat in Glen Cove, the two girls from Stamford, blonde hair, blue eyes, YOU REMIND ME OF MY MOTHER, the hell she did, he couldn't say what his mother looked like, not one of those ladies playing Mah Jongg, the blonde with fine hair, much finer than Gorham's blonde, not honey-colored, more sandy than honey-colored, an absence of blood in the face, I don't like the sun, she said, then why come out in a bloody boat? an attempt to be vivacious, the pink tongue wagging as she cocked her head to one side, wiggling her arms and hips like some stuffed doll in a puppet show, but he didn't like blondes anyway did he? not that kind, rather have a platinum girl if she's to be a blonde at all, platinum girl dressed in silver with an insolent mouth, her eyes laughing at him...His name was Jack Bishop, born in the year 1895 in Hell's. My cock slowly sprang back to life and Sara noticed. “Ummm….I see some parts of you are getting very excited about this arrangement.” Sara rubbed my chest and pulled up and began to suck on one of my nipples. Her hand touched my cock and then played with my balls. The caress of her hand, the warmth of her mouth against my chest was almost too much to handle. I looked at Sara and her deep blue eyes. She smiled warmly, then closed her eyes and moved forward to kiss me. Our lips met and my hand moved to her sweet breasts and across her nipples. I caressed their fullness and then grabbed the nipple lightly as my hands moved back and forth. I kissed Sara on the cheek and brought her up from the couch in front of me. I slipped from the couch to the floor on my ass and positioned myself in front of her sweet lips. She moved forward and exposed her clit to me begging me to suck it in my mouth. My tongue darted out and I tease the sweet bud. Our scents mingled together to create a sweet.
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