I was completely lost for words.In her late forties she was even more stunning than I remembered. Standing there in her swimming costume that made her...curves and tight stomach look like a model from sports illustrated. I could barley contain myself.She clearly did not recognise me. I plucked up the courage to say "you don't remember me". From there much wine was consumed and the chat was free flowing and great. We all had dinner together and went to the bar for a few drinks. Before we knew it. But, he said, she wanted to be alone during massage, if he is infront of her, she may feel insecure or may not be comfortable. I assured him about the satisfaction which she would get post massage. He was happy with that.There was big table in the room. It almost looked like a massage table. So I suggested her, she can lie down on this table, making the bed to go dirty free.We both changed into comfortable clothing. She was little hesitant initially, to make her feel better, I told her, I would. My only hope for preventing a much nastier situation was simply to call the whole damn thing off, right there, right now."Ok. If that's the way you want it, you've got it. That's the last fucking time I will ever ask you for anything. Take the house, take the kids, take the cars, the stocks, bonds, club memberships and any other fucking thing you want and let me go.There must be at least one woman alive who is willing to recognize that her husband's needs are as important as at least some of. That, and the name alone, ought to tell you everything you need to know about the ambience. She loved it.She’s an Australian. So of course she drank beer. It was a Friday. And Mr. Beery’s was rocking. We found a semi quiet place in the back. Nobody noticed us. But of course, there was nothing about either of us to notice, except for the fact that we were both obviously very attracted to each other.I sat a 22-ounce Brickhouse-21 Club in front of her. She took a big gulp, wiped her mouth with her.
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