Indian Girl

Inside, a wave of comfortable warmth enveloped me. Not one, but three fireplaces sat in what I could only assume was the living room, black and white swirled marble brackets framing them. Each were lit and crackling softly, their flames brightening burgundy polished floors. Cream chaises and loungers were orchestrated tastefully before them, silver and white furs placed beneath glass coffee table sets. I was trying to discern what animal produced such a stark rug when Mr. Ryne’s voice sounded. Paul began rhythmically lapping her clit once again, but kept his eyes locked on hers, attentively awaiting his next instruction.“You know what works real good? If you trace the alphabet on it with your tongue,” she told him with ragged breath. “Do that!”Paul instantly obeyed, tracing the capital letter “A” over her erect nub, then “B” and so on. Marcy’s head dropped back on to the mattress like a rock. Her wanton song grew louder than ever. Her hips began to pivot up and down as she started. 1966: Long hair2016: Longing for hair1966: KEG2016: EKG1966: Acid rock2016: Acid reflux1966: Moving to California because it's cool2016: Moving to Arizona because it's warm1966: Trying to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor2016: Trying NOT to look like Marlon Brando or Liz Taylor1966: Seeds and stems2016: Roughage1966: Hoping for a BMW2016: Hoping for a BM1966: Going to a new, hip joint2016: Receiving a new hip joint1966: Rolling Stones2016: Kidney Stones1966: Screw the system2016: Upgrade. This trip was going to really cost her husband quite a pretty penny in more ways than one.The Party of Six left on Sunday afternoon and arrived at Jamaica's Montego Bay Airport late in the afternoon. One of those jaunty jitneys, a brightly painted, open-air jeep with the fringe on top, picked them up. Their driver was an elderly local Rastafarian with long dreadlocks. He looked over the pretty white American women with a practiced eye. He knew why they were here. The old Jamaican just wished.
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