So redneck. Yet there she was, and there his cock was, hardening beneath his jeans. Kent shifted to try and cover his erection. Jenna entered and sat down beside Kent, handed him the beer. She took a mighty swig of her own. Kent watched the bottle neck extend from her mouth, imaging those lips were wrapped around his cock instead. She caught him staring and pulled the bottle away, wiping her mouth and belching. “Something wrong with the way I drink?” Kent offered a nervous laugh. “Nope. Absolutely nothing wrong with that.” “No man I ever met thought so either,” Jenna said, grinning. She grabbed the book off the table and opened it, threw it in Kent’s lap. “Ready to get crackin’?” “Sure …” Kent’s voice trailed off. He flipped aimlessly through the pages, then started to look up at Jenna. He hesitated, then looked up at her again. She was staring pretty intently at him too. Kent swallowed before speaking. “So where do you … ‘mud,’ around here?” Kent asked. He noticed Jenna’s eyes light. ..”“Found out why. He’s ... bad way. His wife called us. He asked if you and the Munchkins...”“Visit?”“Yeah.”“Drive. I’ll borrow Tina’s Suburban.”“Gather the Clan,” I said. “Warn ‘em. This might not be pleasant.”“You know the Munchkins,” I said. “They’re up to it. Done properly.”Thirty minutes later I replaced Cindy as the driver of Tina’s big ‘Mom-mobile’. In the back were Vicki, Rachel and the pTerridactyl. We hit the road headed for the western edge of Georgia, the GPS providing directions.They talked about Mister Barton, the common thread being that every one of them had multiple sorties as bombardier for our weekend flour-bombing contests and as ballast on the spot-landing contests.Cindy had checked out in the Aeronca, adding to the repertoire in her expanding logbook and had put her buddy Mister Barton into the cockpit of her Stearman on one of his last visits.Good friend to us all. Now it’s time for... He was lucid when we got there.Mizz Barton met us at the door. “I told ‘im.
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