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To my relief it was all her. I looked around the corner and she was showering alone. I grabbed my cell and left without her knowing. That night I got home she was still in bed. There were new sheets on the bed, no video on the TV, and no sight of the rubber cock. She was wearing an old white dress shirt of mine, white panties, and white socks. She had done her makeup to where she looked very innocent and sexy. I took my boots and jeans off and jumped in bed next to her. She noticed that I was already hard. She asked me why I was aroused. I told her it was because of the way she looked. She tried to play it off as if this was how she always looked. I started making out with her and she started rubbing me through my underwear. I slipped my hand inside her panties and she was very wet.She looked at me and asked if I still loved her. I told her very much. Then she said "so seeing me fuck another man does not bother you?" I told her how much I loved it and that I jacked off every day to. I felt bad for her husband, who through no fault of his own, had been destined to have another man love his wife and raise his daughter. A month later, we were spending our Saturdays running along palm trees of the Strand in Venice Beach as early spring moved into Southern California. We stopped for hot dogs from a sidewalk vendor. Cee-Cee waited until I was looking and then made love to the hot dog in her mouth. I could feel myself blushing, the hot blood rushing to my face. ‘I’ve finally got your attention, I see,’ she said, pushing the stroller with one hand while eating the dog with the other. ‘Tonight,’ she laughed. I nodded my head in relief and gratitude? did that make sense? I wondered. We spent the rest of the day walking around and stopped for a moment underneath the giant mural of Jim Morrison painted on the side of a building. The madness of the beach area was in direct contrast from the few remaining canals that gave the town its name. We were passed by a woman with wild.
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