And here, another man was providing a firm force to my wife, a rhythmic pounding accompanied by his grunting bursts and her “oh…oh…ohhh yeah.”... was so thoroughly engrossed in what I was hearing I could barely think. I knew instinctively though that I didn’t want to disturb them – fuck! Disturb them? There was a small part of me wanting to rush in there and say “what the fuck is going on?!” and tear at the two of them physically – not in a pleasant way for him, but she would get a cock pounding. I caught a cab to the address I had been given, and looked it over. A strange thing happened, though. Almost as soon as I got out of the cab, a guy in a messenger's uniform came up to me, and asked if I was Tom Wilshire. I replied, cautiously, that I was. He handed me an envelope. I gave him a dollar tip, and he departed.I looked at it. It was addressed to me, and it was in my own handwriting! I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it didn't have anything to do with a chill in. More

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