“Relax, Mom, you must be feeling very tired,” Drake replied as his hands moved a little down to my boobs. “No, I’m not tired, and I know what ...ou are trying to do,” I said, pushing his hands away from my shoulders. “Stop it, and go home,” I tried to be strict with him. “Yes you are, Mom. You are tired and you need someone to take care of you,” my son said and he was right. I was tired because of the work pressure and I also hadn’t had sex from past few days, so it was making everything worse. I. You are invited to visit my profile’s archive to find my previous postings, I hope you enjoy them. John W. Adams, Jr., November 23, 2008 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * This posting is going to involve me tripping and stumbling down Melancholy Boulevard, it parallels Memory Lane and is much less pleasant to drive. If you’re not in the mood for some mutterings about my long-gone days of youth, back-click out of here and find something more exciting to read. That said, and. More

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