“I’m John Henry Bartlett III,” he began. “Bart.” A flush sprang to her cheek and she grabbed the doorway for support. “You may have heard ...tories about my grandfather, John Bartlett, Senior, who I believe was once in love with your grandmother.” “Oh, my God…” she said. “Are these my letters?” John nodded. Rose flushed even deeper, which John thought made her look even more beautiful. “My grandmother talked about him all the time once the Alzheimer’s took hold. She used to tell us the most. It was Saturday, he was only until Sunday evening and I went to him early in the afternoon. He lived near me, in five minutes of walking I was already excited. I walked into his house, he was already naked, the cock hidden in the thick fur, his big hairy balls, I was ready. I undressed my little cock was hard, he made me go to his mother's room. From the drawer she took panties, bras and black stockings. Then from the closet he took a camique and a skirt. We went to the bathroom and gave nail. More

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