Papa Hardy was a painter.Not a painter of landscapes to hang on a wall but to actually paint the walls and rooms of new houses that looked unfinished ...ithout fresh paint to complete their presence. His eldest son, Jacob was a sign painter with a nice steady touch and careful spelling of every new sign to describe a new business or service for the trail hands. Of course, he couldn’t advertise things like whorehouses or opium dens because that would bring the wrath of the new church people down. Viscosity? I thought. She wiped her fingers on the paper towel, rolled over and wiped the remaining crystal fluid from my cock."I'm sorry," I said."It's normal for guys your age," she replied. She held my cock upward again and grabbed both testes tight. "Turn your head and cough." Cough. Pulse. "Again." Cough. Pulse. "Verry nice," the doctor added, pressing two fingers against my cock and probing in various places before closing my gown.She asked me a few follow up questions, told me I was. More

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