“What kind of guessing game?” “You close your eyes, then I let you smell something,” she said. “If you can guess what it is, then you can ha...e it.” He made a face. “You’re not going to make me smell your feet are you?” he asked. She laughed. Her laugh was a tinkle, like magic. “No,” she said, lighlty punching his knee. “Not my feet! Come on, let’s play.” “Okay,” he said, resignedly. He leaned back in the sofa and closed his eyes. He heard her getting up. “No peeking,” she warned. “I won’t,” he. It was dark, so my eyes needed a while to adjust to the unfavorable lighting conditions. The first thing I could make out was a pair of crossed legs – female legs. A little further up, the hem of a thin, white nightgown covered the thighs that belonged to that pair of legs. Even further up, I saw a body, leaning to a door frame, a smile with eyes half closed, and a pair of ample breasts, nipples poking through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. It was Sheryl, Emanuelle's mother. Let me tell you. More

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