Antonia Santiago, Patty O’Casey and me, Gil Roister, we played at my house each Saturday. Her heritage was Italian, Sicilian in fact; she was dark complected, had black hair an attractive face and a body to die for; or least that’s how I saw her. XXX Her seat at the table is directly across from me, Patty sits on my right. You licked back up and nuzzled on my labia, nibbling, licking and sucking ‘til you got to my vagina. “What can I do to help?” I asked. “Wow, you really did.”
“Antonia would you like to make it real, do all those things?” I asked. And the game? It felt so good, I was so full, my bowels craved you, your scalding gush. The stakes had to be small, we were all Social Security recipients; Antonia and I were sixty-five, Patty was sixty-eight.
