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Martha and Ronnie, in jeans and printed shirts, sat smoking and reading as westbound trains roared and clanged past our window."God," Ronnie said, sha...ing her head as yet another crowded train blasted by, "I could never *DO* that. I'd die first! If I knew I had to go through that when I got up in the morning, the first thing I'd do is put my head in the oven."By eight thirty we arrived at the seaside town of Bay Shore and took a taxi to the ferries that waited to shuttle small crowds of people. "I was never like this, was I?"Some mornings, her questions were met with reassuring answers. This time she was greeted with nothing but silence. The inner voice which had so wonderfully guided her over the past two weeks had become prone to odd lapses of silence in recent days. She was left to struggle for the answers on her own.The feeling nagged at her that she was somehow on the wrong track. Her goal, as always, was admirable: to be the best mother she could be, yet it seemed always just. But damn, there was one marring effect with that vision. She had a massive hard on, all shiny from her previous orgasm and the rain still drenching her. I was soon as wet as Leila and even though I was completely mystified, and a little frightened I let her unbutton my sopping shirt, then pull my pants down. When she knelt down in a puddle on the beach; I wasn't sure what was happening. But when she went down on hands and knees and wiggled her beautiful butt at me I knew what she wanted. I. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter SixWyatt MontyWhen I got back to the motel, I sat on the bed for several minutes slowly flipping the black entry chip over and over in my hand. This recycled chip,.
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