Less a question than a statement, Jerry asked, “I killed him?”“Yessa, ya killed em. Da cracka and da dealer.”Jerry’s stomach clenched at the...idea of having killed two men. The action caused a wave of pain to shoot through his body. He must have killed Kenny when he threw him to the street. Jerry said, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”“Sheet, ya saved ma life,” the old man said while shaking his head at the memory of that afternoon. Jerry had stepped between him and the gun stopping a bullet in. He'd developed some real tone over the summer and now a few weeks into his senior year at Springfield High he'd finally started to add some mass. His pecs were becoming more pronounced everyday and his lean six-pack had started to come in nicely. He flexed his thighs, his bis and his tris, even taking a moment to appreciate the way his black boxer-briefs hugged his glutes before turning around and admiring the bulge that stood before him. A proud, thick-looking package that his jeans would. Armistice Day. I was the son of privilege, growing up in New Jersey to Harold and Virginia Scoville. My father was a printer and publisher, and more importantly at the time, an influential man in the politics of the area. He had come to America from England with his father at an early age. He had been academically brilliant and his father's skills with the typesetting equipment of the day made the family prosperous. By the time he was in college, his father owned his own business, and while he. Her hands, in her imagination, were grabbing his bottom and pulling him into her. This was what she had wanted so badly; to give herself completely to him.Suddenly her finger motion slowed and became less fluent. She let out a gasp of breath and her facial expression became a grimace as she responded to the surge of power from within her lower abdomen. The irregular stroking of her clitoris was accompanied by a rapid jerking motion of her hips as she felt the tidal wave of euphoria permeate her.
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