"Hey!" I call as I hear the front door slam open, and Carolines feather-tread footsteps echoeing down the hall. "What are you doing here, I still have...to shower..." "That's okay, I'll join you." This isn't abnormal, we've been bathing together for years. "Okay, let me-" before I can finish, she is half-naked standing in front of me. Her pale skin luminesent in the suns glow. Her perky, perfect breasts bouncing slightly as she struggles with her jeans. "get my towel..." I strip off my own shirt,. Taunt me. But God forbid, don’t let me cum. I want to enjoy you as long as possible. I want you slide up and down my pole. I want to be taken almost all the way out and have you thrust downward, taking the whole length of me up inside you. Lean forward, kiss me, poke those hard nipples into my chest. I’ll let you have your fun, but a few words of warning, at this pace I won’t last long. As I feel myself being drawn nearer to orgasm, I suddenly and without missing a beat, flip you over and start. ’ I held up another photo. ‘This is one of my personal heroes. His name was Tim Russert. He was a reporter for one of the national networks, and hosted a political talk show on Sunday mornings. He was a big guy, with a happy face and a nonthreatening manner. He made you comfortable.’ ‘But if that big, happy, smiling guy asked you a question you were uncomfortable with, you better tell the truth, because he had a video clip or a print quote ready to show if you lied. That’s why his show was so. He was more drawn to Belgian beer and hanging out with Barry—a mate of his who'd come down from Amsterdam where he lived on a houseboat with his cats, cannabis plants and fat girlfriend. So that left Lisa free to soak up the atmosphere without Simon telling her how boring it all was and how stupid she was to be fixated on a single website. However, as the novelty palled of being able to do exactly what she fucking well wanted without his fucking criticism and the smell of his fucking smelly.
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