It wasn’t my Dag. But some little boy had scratched his name into wet cement. I could easily imagine Dag having done the same kind of thing when he ...as a child. These streets were his home. He probably grew up near this very place. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t making a saint out of him and revering the neighborhood he grew up in. But it really got to me that this was his neighborhood and his neighbors would want to know about him.I quickened my steps back to the Swedish American Center,. My cock still throbbed in my shorts. It took me a few minutes to compose myself. I retrieved the video and then found a bottle of massage oil and a towel. The bathroom was a mess as it was most of the time after Cindy was there. There were makeup articles strewn across the counter and clothes and towels on the floor. I sighed and started to straighten up. I moved her makeup into a neat pile on the side of the counter and wiped it down. When I picked up the towels, a pair of panties dropped to. More

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