“Where are you?” I inquired.“In the guest bathroom. Are you in bed?”“Kind of. Kevin’s asleep, and I’m in another room.”“What are you...doing, besides talking to me?” I was tracing my clit through my cotton panties. “I was reading a book before you demanded that we converse orally.”More indeterminable crinkling. “I requested politely. What book?”“Hold on.” I rummaged through the desk to find a pair of headphones. There they were.Hands free, I resumed our conversation. “A dusty John Grisham novel. "The Des Plaines flows into the Illinois which connects with the Mississippi just before St. Louis. There are railroad bridges that have attendants during daylight hours and other rail bridges are attended 24 hours except Sunday." What do you think, Wendy?"She patted her belly, "The idea of medical help all the way to the Gulf? I'm up for it," she decided.He said, "You'll spend most of the time until St. Lewis motoring ... after that the Mississippi is mostly a mile wide and people sail on it. More

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