A nice evening at her place, I thought as we got out of the
car. Good wine, a wonderful sex goddess, and a good dinner
lying happily in my stomach. What else could a man ask for?
"To fuck like crazed weasels!", I muttered as I watched Jennifer
slink up the walkway, with her one flawless leg catching in the
light from the street light. "What's that, dear?" she said,
pivoting to look at me. A flash of white skin caught the dim
yellow light where the stump I'd been thinking about through
dinner was. "Nothing, I was just muttering to myself. They
tell me the insanity isn't anything to worry about unless I
start st-st-stu-stuttering."
Her infectious laugh filled the still air as we went into her
apartment. I walked in and took off my shoes and watched as she
placed a crutch tip on either side of her red pump and lifted
her right foot out in one fluid motion. She was worth another
hungry look in the room light. That oft-admired bare leg was
perfect right down to the way the toes curved. Her hips and
backside were pushing against her tight death-by-red dress. A
bit further up, her full breasts were pressing hard against the
fabric, with firm little points crying out to be touched. Her
pretty hands flexed around the grips of the aluminum crutches
that helped her look so athletic.
Her eyes sparkled above her wide smile when I finally looked up
at her pretty face. She turned and hugged me, and said, "Could
you pour the wine? There are stem glasses in the cupboard above
and to the left of the sink." She then headed to the sofa as I
uncorked the bottle and found the supplies I needed.
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