His response, was to spin us around and into the dark again and reached down to grab my ass cheeks, gripping tightly and really pulled me into him, "I have 8 inches of cock wanting to fuck your body", his words and hot breath rushed into my ear, as his fingers and gyrations, really ground against me, his erection was hitting the spot, and as I struggled meekly, so as not to draw attention, just seemed to make it worse, in the sense, my own body was wilting as the pleasure pressure of his naughtiness pressed against my pubic bone. Together, all of it added to and lessened my resistance, I was succumbing to his physical sexual advances and now when he whispered he knew I was wanting it, I was embarrassed he felt that in me and I broke free and went to my husband, without looking back.When my husband saw me, he saw nothing of distress, just a glass of bubbly, and as I sat I looked around and I have to say, frustratingly, could not see him again amongst the throng."Who was that man that. I then rounded a corner and pretended to hear the thumping bass of "Staying Alive" as I walked jauntily down the sidewalk. I next gazed upon a frizzy-haired young hippy chick in front of a used bookstore. I introduced myself by tossing my auburn hair side to side like posing for a magazine (Mad magazine came to mind as appropriate)."I'm Penelope Spade. I'm from out of town." No shit, Sherlock," she replied as only a native New Yorker can."Actually I'm quite regular," I replied since she seemed to imply I was constipated, although I did appreciate her compassion. "But you are close with the Sherlock quip because I am a private investigator." (Although why I thought this might impress anyone over ten does still baffle me.)I began to notice large crowds lining the street, carrying colorful flags that looked vaguely familiar, perhaps Puerto Rican. I wasn't expecting a welcoming parade, but I suppose my reputation preceded me again. I then heard strains of "It's Raining Men," blared from.
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