Donna and Equality, Donna’s Friend and Donna’s Philosophy

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Donna and Equality ‘If,’ said Donna, ‘all men are created equal, what about women?’ She had the ability to raise such matters at moments when I was not entirely able to reply, this time being engaged upon a mission to return a favour she had bestowed upon me earlier. Her thighs were clamped fairly tightly to my ears which made me unsure I had heard her correctly. I raised my head but she tapped it. ‘You concentrate on the task in tongue, College, and let me muse a while longer.’ Her fingers ran delightfully through my hair as I bent myself once more to my duty. ‘I suspect that whoever the sage was who coined this phrase, he (or she I suppose) meant humankind rather than men, at least one would hope so.’ I nodded but I suspect she thought that was for a different reason because she did a little “mmmm” before continuing. ‘It’s just that we are not created equal. I’m taller than you and you’re cleverer than me. That’s not equality. But because we’re different doesn’t mean we should be treated differently, so perhaps that is the drift of his point?’ She broke off at this point because my ministrations seemed to have taken her to a point where kaçak iddaa philosophy could go hang itself for a while. She has a delightful motion at ‘the moment’ which lifts her pelvis and turns her body slightly – hard to explain but it does it for me. I crawled up over her and kissed her mouth then rolled to lie beside her. She turned her face towards me and wriggled to settle comfortable, legs entwined, arm across my chest and idly played with a nipple. She cupped a breast and said, ‘See what I mean, you’re definitely not equal to Nellie in the Bristol department but equality and quality are not the same, are they?’ ‘You spend far too long gazing at Nellie’s knockers.’ ‘Well, they are hard to avoid, they damn near fill a room.’ I giggled and kissed her again. She rolled me onto my belly and started to do something delicious to my spine with her tongue. There is a bit of me somewhere in the lower spine which is connected directly to heaven. She discovered this particular spot fairly early on in our relationship and often returned to it when she was feeling particularly generous. A while later she was talking to a part of me that kaçak bahis cannot answer back. ‘Well, I think that was equally good as the first time.’ ‘I’m surprised you can remember the first time – it was about 3 hours ago.’ She looked up. ‘You clock watching, College?’ Donna’s Friend We were entertaining a friend of Donna’s and her girlfriend, Delia, for dinner. Sam was what I believe our American cousins would call a ‘stone butch.’ In normal circumstances she would not have been a companion of choice for me but I had great affection for her because of the care she had shown to Donna during a particularly low period in my lover’s life. ‘My mum and Cassandra were competing it seemed to me to shag their way through the ‘phone book. Mum gave up around the Ls but Cassandra has got top the Ws and is still at it. That, College, notwithstanding her sharing her bed with Dennis. That poor boy, she makes such demands on him between her other applicants that he must have a willie like a boy scout’s firelighter. Anyhow, when this Messalinan orgy was in progress I left the bosom of my family and Sam took me in.’ Where she had learnt about the illegal bahis Emperor Claudius’s wife’s activities and her contest with Scylla I did not enquire; she had a surprising collection of data in her sweet, short-haired head. ‘She took care of me.’ Sam had arrived in traditional butch garb: black jeans, heavy boots and a tight black t shirt. The only incongruity in her appearance was a set of top-hamper that rivalled Nellie’s. ‘She did consider having them off but I dissuaded her. At least they mark her out from the crowd.’ You couldn’t argue with that. Delia, whose father apparently liked cookery and Norwich football club, was a different kettle of fish. She was about twenty years old with long, bleached hair, chewed gum and wore the shortest skirt I had ever seen. It was what my Dad would have called a pelmet but shorter. If she bent more than two degrees from the vertical her choice of underwear was clear to all. Her small chest was barely concealed by a halter-neck top in vivid pink. There are few things in this life about which I am prejudiced but I have to declare a deep-rooted loathing of the Birmingham accent. ‘Don’t mind College, Sam. She thinks anyone with a Brummie accent should get elocution lessons on the National Health.’ I served a slow roasted shoulder of lamb with rosemary and white wine which met with general approval.

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