“They’re something, eh?” she said, almost sounding like a middle-aged Sicilian. “We use a little something you Americans like to call ‘pot, ...�� I believe.”“No shit,” I laughed and Bud grinned, having asked the same question earlier. “Got to take that recipe home with us.”“That’s not happening,” she said, still smiling, “unless you buy the cay.”“Is it for sale?” I asked, more surprised than curious.“Ya. A cool 24 million American and it’s yours,” she said as she pushed the rolling stove away.“We. ” “Think nothing. I get just as wet as the black girls her. Iheard you call Carmen your brown sugar. I think you need some cream.” She approached and leaned me against the cash register. Shekissed hesitantly at first her thin lips on my full ones. I enjoyedthe sensation of her tongue on mine, her hand roamed to my engorgedand erect penis and I pulled away. Protesting weakly. “You’ve had toomuch eggnog.” “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink.. More

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