I'm asleep, or so I pretend. The next thing I know, a hand casually rests against my foot. Then she begins to squeeze and rub my foot, then began to ...lay with my toes, pulling on then in soft strokes. Her hand moves up to my thigh, gently rubbing as it moves closer to me. I gasp, hidden beneath my towel. The hairs on my neck bristle with excitement. But the towel protects me, hides me, and I remain passive. Her hands are on both my thighs now, slowly massaging them, her fingers reaching up. It was a dank, rich, gaseous, rank and fumy fart. The kind of fart one usually only reads about in old copies of the “New Yorker” or “Vanity Fair” magazine. “Sorry Harry” said Jimmy Craktcorn “That was a real bun shaker. A real one gun salute. A real cheek flapper.”“Damn Jimmy, You really blew me a kiss. You really blasted the ass trumpet. That was a real beefy air biscuit.” Said Harry. “Hey Harry, how’s your new wife Louise doing?” asked Jimmy Craktcorn“Louise was a harlot. She was not a. More

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