It was a dank, damp and dull November day, and the prospect of seeing a dying man did not enhance my gloomy mood.As we rode, both of us quiet with our...own thoughts, I recalled to mind the last time I had seen Drayton Parslow, which had been on the morning of the eighteenth of June, just before the first cannon balls started to fall amongst our battalion on that bloody ridge of Mont St Jean. He had shaken my hand before leaving to join his company, which was acting as skirmishers to the front of. He ticked off the days of the calendar, wondering when would Claire be due? He had no clear idea, really, he could only guess at when the lucky sperm found its way to her promised land. He did the math, and the baby could be due anytime in the spring. In mid-April, he went back to the store, just curious, and he lucked out. There was a different woman minding the store. Her name was Wilma, and she was the epitome of a stereotypical church lady: Old, gray-haired, thin as a rail, in a dress that. Mr. Rubin held Evelyn’s gaze as he took a deep breath and lurched his hips down. That worked as his top two-inches popped into the warm tunnel. He paused. Evelyn merely rolled her hips higher acceding to the assault on her cunt. She was trying to streamline the orifice widening to come. Mr. Rubin punched his stout erection all the way down Evelyn’s slippery vagina, feeling every fleshy fold scrape his knob. His tip found her cervix just before he was fully seated and compressed it to make more. Her face was completely devoid of expression. Her eyes, a brilliant blue I would have died for to replace my plain brown cow-eyes, were similarly blank. I mean, no pupil. Well, actually, there were pupils, but they were tiny black dots so small I had to look hard to see them. And when I did look at them, it was like I was seeing two tiny windows into Hell.Then she blinked. And blinked again. And it was like watching a wooden dummy come to life. And that was real scary, too. Her eyes dilated,.
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