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On the third Monday of that summer month several years ago, my wife was up well before dawn and watching for the trash man. When he climbed down outta his truck and opened the lid of our recycling bin to evidently scrutinize the contents, my wife charged outta the front door like she'd been fired from a cannon. She rolled-up on him and unloaded a pent-up, invective-filled tirade that had me wincing from my vantage point on the front porch.The trash man was dumbstruck. Overawed. He actually flinched and took several steps backwards and put his hands-up placatingly.Funny thing was that my wife was still wearing what she'd worn to bed - which was a threadbare tank top and nude-colored underwear. She was barefoot and without a bra, her hair still mussed from sleep and wadded up in a tangled bun piled lopsidedly on her head. As she ranted and raved, her sagging 50year old breasts, unsupported by a bra, wobbled and swung pendulously - the nipples stiff and hard in the early morning chill.. When they got there, Jasmine asked Chris to choose a film. He did, and payed for the tickets. Jasmine then payed for the snacks, though Chris protested, and they went into Studio 3. The film was some crappy action-film, and all through the adverts, Jasmine sat with her hand on Chriss thigh, tracing patterns and beating tattoos lightly with her fingers, grinning to herself. When the film started, she sat on his lap, and, under the pretence of getting more comfortable, she shifted-around, trying to figure-out the best way to torture him. She soon felt his erection that actually seemed quite large. By the end of the movie, Chris was seriously hoping for a little more than a kiss. As they left the cinema, Jasmine whispered in Chriss ear Hey, dyou want me to show you something?He turned to her and said Id love to… Jasmine giggled, and pulled him back into the cinema. What are we doing back here?! Chris asked quietly. Wait and see. said Jasmine, equally quietly. She led him to a store.
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