She saw them as down-trodden masses who couldn't make passes or get off first base without a seeing-eye dog who knew that the way home to pork chops was past second to third, then hang a left.They were welcome any time, day or night. Beer was free and plentiful, always food to eat, a bed to crash in, and if you love looking at great visual pussy, there was plenty of that. Her usual attire was a man's shirt or a shorty silk robe, and that short sucker just barely did cover all the ass flesh. It did not hide any of the pussy, and Wendy's pussy is best seen in full glory from the rear. It was useless to try to talk to anyone with Wendy walking away or standing nearby facing away. Her ass commanded all eyes. She knew it; she loved it; she had to have IT. I had a choice - shirt or shorty robe - pick one or both - pick none and you got yourself a nude wife.I was never sure what the IT was that Wendy had to have. IT wasn't fucking, but IT got her fucked. She never wanted me to actually see. She wished she found that comforting.After another hour, JD started pointing out local sights. Finally, he slowed to a crawl near a mailbox."Open that, honey, an' see if'n the mail's come in yet." You're becoming more and more southern as we drive, you know. And who's mail is this I'm stealing, anyway?" Ours. We's here." He turned on to a dirt road hidden along the tree-lined highway and suddenly they were there.The house it's self was a four story anti-bellum beauty with well-kept porches and delicately painted trim. A few bushes dotted the grass in front of the house and four large magnolia trees framed it all. A little ways from the house was an elegant willow tree. In the distance, Cockerell Creek glittered in the afternoon sun. It was breathtaking. The trip was worth the view alone."You grow up here?" she gasped as they got out of the car and she surveyed the scene."Yep. That windo' there. I used ta climb out at night and sit on the roof 'round the side. Can't imagine why I.
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