Nightly Dream Becomes Real, Morning Sex

But that was image, and she put it on as easily as putting on clothes. The private Jenny, the one he saw, the one that perhaps only he and Jenny share..., reminded him of Marilyn Monroe, too. The real Monroe. Perhaps only Jenny and he knew that Jenny Easton was a desperately unhappy camper.If Blake had to sum Jenny up in a word, that word would be "homesick". She was not a person whose psyche fed on glamour, on adulation, on roaring crowds. Home, back in Spearfish Lake, represented a happier. “They didn’t really appreciate us enough.”“Did we get thrown out?”He frowned and held his hands up. “Maybe.”“Didn’t you say your cousin owned that place.”“He’s a distant cousin.” He shrugged and shifted to a brilliant grin. “Besides this club has dancing.”When he pulled his beater car to a halt in the parking lot and I unfolded myself out of it, I gave him a sidelong glance. “A salsa club? Isn’t that Cuban?”“This place is loaded with very hot chicks wearing very little clothes. I’d come here if. More

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