She was settling in, putting things into her brief case and reaching for a book in the side pocket.As she sat, her skirt had slid up a bit more on her...thighs but her legs were carefully pressed together - at least for the moment. There was a slight gap as the material stretched across her legs, but not enough to see 'heaven' clearly. I settled in and grabbed my newspaper from my own briefcase and opened it - pretending to read it as I stole glances every few seconds at her legs.She seemed. ‘I need to make you forget this,’ she told me gently. ‘This?’ I asked, not comprehending for a moment. ‘You mean … this? Us?’ I really lost it. My throat began to clutch in sympathy as soon as I saw her tears, and now my own began to flow freely. Could she actually do such a thing? Erase something so significant from my memory? ‘No!’ I blurted. ‘Please! Oh, Jean, why?’ ‘It’s not for me!’ she told me, pleadingly. ‘It’s for my sister!’ I was really confused now. ‘Jo?’ I asked, but she shook her. "Give me a sec'. I'm on the phone to my boyfriend". While she made excuses and lied I leaned over and started to stroke between her silky smooth thighs. She shook and pushed my hands away to start. I kissed her the top of her knee and she slapped the back of my head playfully, held her hand over the phone mic' and said. "Stop it you pillock!" I could tell she didn't mean it. So I stroked the inside of her thighs again, licking and kissing her lap until I could reach her slightly stubbly vagina.. She was in the other room. I was scared stupid, but If I was having a stroke I’d rather it kill me than adding another level of disability. I don’t want a life as a vegetable in a home.On the Night Of Hell they thought I was having a stroke and gave me a shot that they charged me personally, not the insurance company because I don’t have any, me personally over $98,000 dollars for. That’s just for the medicine in the syringe. Not giving the shot, nothing else. I still owe $40,000 on that shot..
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