" Jan got up, finished off the bottle of apple wine, stuffed it under some papers in the overflowing wastepaper basket, and sat back down. "Anyway, ev...ry other Saturday, I'd get up early, make myself pretty, then head over to the Perkins Passion Pad, home of Perkins the Pervert. "He'd let me in, take my coat, and offer me some coffee. The guy was a fiend for coffee. There'd always be somebody like B. B. King or Aretha Franklin on the stereo and we'd talk for a few minutes before he'd suggest we. "Is this thing getting hard again? Tell it to fuck off. No way, stud!" Down boy!" Mike, Marsha does have a good job, doesn't she? I mean, she's doing well, right?" Oh, yeah," Mike laughed. "Being built like a brick shit-house didn't hurt either. Old man Marley drooled all through her job interview. Tom Ellis told me, the old fart couldn't take his eyes off of Marsha's tits." Mr. Bradford, all this talk about your daughter's body makes me think you have the hots for her." Fantasyland, Mrs.. More

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