Wendy whistles like a good coin silver flute. The problem is what to do with her hands. So ... she started messing with the watch.Now it's pitch black ... can't see your hand in front of your face dark, and drizzling rain and maybe a little sleet in the mix. The sea is rough as all get out and we still don't have a breeze."Wendy? What did you do?" I asked."I don't know," she complained.She ran below and grabbed our rain gear.I heard the kids."Mom? What did you do?" they both asked."Oh sure, blame me," she replied."Mom ... you're the one with the watch." Art said."Yeah, mom," Ink agreed.She came back to the wheel and took over while I put on my wet gear. Not that it was wet ... it's to keep me from getting wet. Lookit ... don't blame me ... it's what sailors call it. Unless they call it foul weather gear.So she's minding the helm when we hit something."Errk," I said.The kids came running out on deck in their wet gear. "Daddy ... the keel hit something." I know that," I said. "What is. Some of them were given her 'other' phone number so that she could service them without any of the cash going to her 'modeling agent'. All were routine situations except one.Farnsworth was a man born to wealth who took a liking to Chinese pussy. Farnsworth was 'married' to Clarissa. Clarissa knew about Farnsworth's dalliances with Mom and even encouraged them. What's more, Clarissa on many occasions would join the party, converting a twosome into a threesome. It was a very profitable arrangement for Mom, and for the lucky couple, the money was merely a rounding error.Well, one night Farnsworth and Clarissa were doing their own private two-some while Mom sat there watching, sipping some Cabernet Sauvignon and wondering which bank account would get the deposit of the evening's fee. Her free hand was inside her twat, fingers marinating in Farnsworth's most recent deposit of fuck sauce. Clarissa looked over at her and, without consulting Farnsworth, asked her a question out of the.
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