Cora’s cookin’ was what kept them comin’, though. That summer, 1931, or maybe ’32, I forget, I became a man in more ways than one. I’d helpe... Ike by stackin’ the wood he split. We had a heap of it stacked by the barn, but would need a heap more afore winter set in. I couldn’t wait to swing that ax myself, but though I was gettin stronger and bigger daily, Ike always took on the hardest chore. ‘Mose, I need you to run to town for me,’ Cora hollered out the kitchen window. I was on my bike and. But wait; let me get back to reality here. Isabella sat across from me, wearing a black skirt. Not too long. Not too short. That skirt was just right. Beneath it, she wore a pair of black hosiery that complimented her athletic legs. I couldn't tell if they were stockings, or leggings, or pantyhose, but hey, I am a man, and none of that really matters. I still can't tell the difference between yoga pants and leggings. I just know how they frame an ass! Above the skirt she wore a red sweater with. More

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