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My wife parked her car a few spaces down from me. She climbed out and shot an exasperated look at me. One I knew all too well. Our girls were fighting. They were out of the mind-control device, their memories of last night and this morning erased. They weren’t united by incestuous love any longer.Now they were just a pair of teenage girls sharpening their claws on each other.June hopped out of the car, a look of hurt fury on her face while Dusk had something like a smirk on her lips. June saw me and brightened. Her brown pigtails danced around her face as she rushed over to me and beamed. She was such a daddy’s girl.“Hey, Junebug,” I said, deciding not to pry on what the sisters were fighting over.Dusk strolled after, adjusting her glasses. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell loose about her face, her skirt swishing. My wife followed after, petite and blonde, clutching her coffee in her hand with desperation. She looked tired.I felt tired. We’d been up all night fucking.And I was the only. Most were drawn to my ludicrous MM cup breasts (They weren’t quite done growing even then) while others liked my long legs, sculpted butt, fit physique, and then there were the older guys who just loved blonde hair and blue eyes.One of those older guys was Lon Gordon, I was in a bar late at night in San-Francisco on a hiatus from college, letting all the horny boys in the place fight (politely, I do not tolerate violence in a suitor) for who would get the right to buy me the most expensive drink they could. There were studs of all kinds, from those delectable lean-yet-defined types to those hearty buff boys. There were fashionable types, and there were nerds (I use the term affectionately), and there were businessmen in suits and even one punk kid just loaded up with metal in his face. On some level they were all tempting, but I wasn’t in an orgy mood (that night anyway) so I couldn’t quite make up my mind.Then he came in. He was older than all the rest, maybe in his late forties,.
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