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. and I can't take it a minute longer. We're walking hand in hand when I suddenly pull your hand around, pushing you against a telephone pole on Main Street, and say "shut up and kiss me"... and we do... long, passionate, perfect. Without saying a word, we continue our walk.About a mile later, I glance up the street and smile. "So... let's do something spontaneous... exciting... right now... right here!" Your eyes open wide, "you mean what just happened wasn't spontaneous???" We both laugh. You're VERY much in the mood, though still leery of what I'd have in mind. Before you have a chance to respond, I grab your hand and walk briskly forward... a few doors up... and pull you into a somewhat run-down building with flashing lights everywhere. It only takes a minute to realize we're in a strip joint.This might be fun, you think... and we pay the cover, order a couple beers, and find a table. You quickly decide you don't want to sit near the dance floor, as you might be too embarrassed.. It looked like something she would wear to a funeral, but she'd wrapped a big blue belt around her waist and had two blue butterfly barrettes in her hair. It seemed to transform the dress completely.Just a few seconds after Brianna's arrival, Nicole was quickly behind her. She was wearing a green dress just a few sizes smaller, but of the same design as her mother's. I found it odd, that the two of them not only looked alike, but they chose nearly the same exact dress as well. I grinned inwardly as I wondered if maybe the similarities ran deeper—I wondered if Donna had been a nearly insatiable horny teenager when she was fourteen or fifteen.We waited a few more minutes looking at pictures, but finally Donna grew impatient. She called up the stairway, "Stacy Annemarie! Everyone else has been ready to go for several minutes. We're all hungry, and your boyfriend has been her waiting patiently. Get your butt in gear!"Nicole smirked at the word 'boyfriend'—I obviously wasn't what she had.
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Picking the lamp back up she tugged the door open with her foot, then made her way out into the yard, holding the lamp up in her left hand, whilst her right arm hung by her side, carrying the weight of the pistol. Behind her the wooden door hung, invitingly half open. A cool autumnal breeze blew thick strands of an erie mist through the yard, seeming to almost glow in the light of the full moon. The cold from the slabs laid across the yard chilled her feet through her thin slippers, and she shivered as she walked, the rough hem of her cotton nightdress flapping around her ankles. She looked towards the stable block, bordering the right side of the yard outside the farmhouse, and stepped towards it, her stomach tight with nerves. Buster, her own horse, stuck his head out of his stall and neighed a greeting to her as he always did, but somehow even he seemed nervous. She paused by his door and scratched him gently on the nose, using her right elbow. Easy, boy. she said softly to the.

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