“No,” Jack replied, “I’d take you to my place, only I haven’t done laundry in a week and my son’s baby sitter might give me the evil eye.�...� I rubbed Jack’s inner thigh, dipping my fingers ever closer to his manhood. I bit down on my lower lip, leaned in and whispered, “My daughter is gone for the night.” I watched as my words settled into Jack’s mind. He stared up at the television. “Well, then,” he replied, slipping his hand on to my ass and squeezing it, “Let’s go to your place.” “Oh my gawd!”. His white satin apron wastied in a neat bow at the back. A white petticoat and black nylon pantiespeeked from under his dress. He wore garters and stockings, and on hisfeet were black patent pumps with three-inch heels.In the half-light of the sheers, he was vacuuming under the coffee tablewith his back turned to her, his behind wiggling provocatively. He lookedsurprisingly feminine. The heels were making marks in the carpet. Shewatched him vacuum backwards away from the table, carefully. More

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