Paul had tried mailing him to Botswana once, but the mailman just shook his head and walked by. He wasn't going to get near a lumpy package like that....One theory we had was that Bobo was really our grandfather, but for the life of me I couldn't imagine any woman letting the man stick anything of his inside her, and neither of our parents resembled him very much. In fact, nobody resembled him, except Spongebob Squarepants, sorta. They were both yellow anyway, although our brother had jaundice. My headed started to throb. I gently started to rub my swollen prick fantasizing about the many times I had seen my mother’s heaving bosoms, her big nipples tight against the lining of her tight blouse tops, her firm creamy belly smooth like silk, her big fleshy buttock cheeks, tight against her sari, swaying side to side as she walked. Yes, I thought to myself as I squeezed my cock-helmet softly – my mother was a goddess, whose pussy was waiting to get fucked by me – her son. It was my. More

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