I looked at my scared hands and thought that was a pretty good description of me.That big bruiser of a truck was a far cry from that immaculate black ...-150 I had as a boy. I didn't care. Here your truck represented your livelihood. It wasn't a toy. Five years on a ranch in western Montana certainly changed my perspective about a lot of things.The only time I threw a football these days was at the annual church picnic. I could still throw a decent spiral but the long scar across the palm of my. " He groanedthen made a keening sound as he slammed into me as hard as he could,over and over, pushing himself over the edge and coming inside me. Hetook a long time to finish, draining himself inside me. Finally hepulled out slowly with a sigh. I guided him to the bed and we lay downtogether, side by side as I kissed him and stroked his face.Yes, this therapy thing is tough. I hadn't even come yet, but of coursethe client's needs are always paramount. As he was such an ass man Idecided to take. More

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