He’d gone white.I frowned. “What’s wrong?”He grabbed one of the photo frames on Dad’s desk.“Oh, shit!”I walked behind the desk and looke... over his shoulder at the photo. It was of Charlie and my dad standing with their arms around each other at the vow renewal.“I don’t get it,” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”He looked at me.“Don’t you see it? Us?”“Us?” I stared at the photo and then I was seeing what he was seeing and I had to hold onto the back of his chair. In the background of the photo were. Luckily for me fate had offered up the best possible solution for my dilemma.A recent crime spree had broken out in our town with cars disappearing left and right never to be found again. The police have suspected it was some sort of chop shop setting up operations. What they did not know was that these disappearances were the result of a new gang in town who were taking the cars, stripping down the VIN numbers and selling them across the border. I came to this information when I caught one. Her areolas are the softest pink almost the same colour as the nipple. Her nipples are easily aroused and as they harden they take with them most of the surrounding areola which also stiffens. A whiff of air, a slight touch, or maybe just a thought and they are instantly firm and calling attention to themselves. She takes a breast in her hand and brings it up to her lips. Her tongue snakes out quickly and gives the nipple a lash of wetness, and a quick kiss. No time for more. Yet. Beth has a. They'd light a fire to keep warm, set a guard, then drift off to sleep telling stories. This was 'Oz's' element. The language may be different, the stories not quite the same, but it all reminded him of the drover camps of his boyhood. There, he'd learned to tell tales, to 'yarn' as the Australians say. A mixture of truth, embroidery, and downright lying designed to entertain, not inform. And 'Oz' was head of the class at 'yarning.'The woman Anarchist took to sitting beside him. She was older.
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