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I told her mine, and she paused.......... She stuttered a little and said, "I think I know who you are..."My mind was racing! I thought, "Who the fuck is this chick and why does she know who I am?"So I asked her, "How do you know me? Did you google me?"She laughed and enquired about my sister. Now shit was gettin weird.She was then certain she knew who I was. But refused to tell me how she knew me.So I dismissed it and told her we should go dance. And just then she told me.Turns out she was the mother of one of my sisters best friends from school.And when I discovered this, I knew I had to bang her. It was my mission....We then went and danced, sucked a bit of face and felt each other up.Unfortunately, I'd have to wait a few days before I could see her cesarean scar up close, as her friend had to leave and she was playing TAXI for the evening.I danced the rest of the night, knowing I'd laid down the foundation to build something fucking epic.I messaged her the following day to test. That pretty much described my state of mind as I barreled down Interstate 35 on the Fourth of July weekend.The sun had gone down two hours before, but the midsummer heat lingered like the smoky remnants of a dying campfire. The humidity hung thick in the air, and I had no way to escape it. This old car's air conditioner was very temperamental, and usually just as the temperature rose enough that you'd want it, it stopped working. I had the windows open, but at highway speeds I preferred them to be down only a few inches.I was on my way home. The 250-mile drive was by no means short, but I had planned to leave work at 3:30, be on the road by 4 and pulling up at my folks' house by 9. But then there were problems at the office, I was stuck there until after 5, then I got caught in rush hour traffic. It was now past 10 p.m., and I still had two hours of driving ahead of me.I was also making the trip alone. My fiance had not only not worked late—he actually hit the road at about noon and.
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