Molly’s Admission
My wife Abigail sank back in the hand tooled Italian leather chair in her home office and looked across her desk at her best friend Molly who was nervously stirring the cream into her tea. The two women were an interesting contrast. Abigail with an elegant and luscious build which stemmed from her largely Scandinavian ancestry was tall and lithe with large C-cup breasts that were nothing short of a natural wonder of the world and just the right flair of hips that made men look twice regardless of whether she was wearing blue jeans, or a business suit. She…