Prices were fairly good, so if we could produce two or three hundred head for the spring sales, we would be in much better financial circumstances. Bu... early that fall a freak hail storm destroyed the second hay crop, and we were right back where we started. Mom was never really sure if it was the hail storm or just the progress of Dad’s disease, but his decline accelerated. In early November, my father, Frank Williams, age 61, died in his bed, a shadow of his former, robust self. Mom and I. He hooked the waistband of her thong between his teeth and slowly pulled them down, exposing her pussy inch, by glorious inch. He deeply inhaled the musky scent of her womanhood. His fingers couldn’t resist touching the soft bush of black curls covering her swollen labia. His touches were like pure electricity shooting through her body. She placed her hands on his shoulders as she stepped out of the thong. ‘Keep your hands on my shoulder, Kara. You’re gonna need something to hold onto.’ Those. More

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