"I wonder how many of these women were dressed by their son" she whispered as we stood at the bar waiting for our drinks, she smelled wonderful and I ...onged to kiss her neck, to nuzzle my mouth into her flesh, to taste her!"I'm wondering how many of them have got a pussy as wet as yours mum" and she giggled deliciously,We sat down at a table where we could see everyone as they came into the pub and she pressed herself against me, I felt the softness of her breas pressing into my arm and I. .."I knew now that the sneaking distrust would as certainly destroy our marriage as the quick proof of her betrayal. It might be a much slower process, but probably even more painful just because of that.Last night our love had been missing. I may have been the only one feeling that. But I had tasted the horror of it. The loneliness. The bitter coldness it oozed. And I knew I could not go on like that.But how to get proof?Proof of what?Finding them in bed together would be proof of her. More

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