She followed me back upstairs and I could feel her eyes on my nude form. She followed me into the bedroom and I feigned indifference and lay down agai... on my sleeping bag and picked my book up again.She was staring at me and especially at my cock when she said, “Are you going to do what you did this afternoon again?”“What was that,” I queried knowing full well what she was referring to.“You know,” she replied, “pick me up in your arms and kiss me, like you did earlier.”Obviously, I was very. On he ran through the mean streets of the dingy neighborhood until he tripped and fell in a heap outside a darkened doorway. Ken crawled into the doorway and curled into a fetal ball.Is this all a cruel dream? Is all this happening in my head alone? Am I going crazy? Have I already gone crazy? Was my dear wife sexually abused by a black man or was it merely my imagination gone wild? And did she enjoy it? Or is that imagined as well? Is it some cruel hoax being played on me? Or am I the one. More

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