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“If it means anything to you, I do not hate the Germans. I used to write to a German girl before the war, we were pen pals, she lived in Essen.” “I know the town well, I was born not far from there, in a town called Dortmund.” “Our people are dropping a lot of bombs there,” she bit her lip and glanced out the window.“Come,” he clapped his hands and she jumped, “enough philosophizing or we will end this war and then what will our leaders do with their time? Write books on how they won the war?” Dorothy giggled and pulling off her glasses, wiped her eyes. “I dare say, it would make for interesting reading.” He grinned. “No doubt.” His nimble fingers danced over the keyboard not long after and Dorothy found herself beginning to fantasize over him. What would it be like to have those fingers inside her? He certainly seemed to have a way with his fingers she mused a couple of hours later, he was at home with the typewriter and his English was indeed flawless, almost embarrassingly so, for. Chan grinned broadly and nodded his head.In the kitchen, Jane was preparing the ingredients for her special omelette. Her husband sat on the couch sipping his coffee. A card was on the cushion beside him. “Thanks for the card, hun.”“Welcome, sweetie…more to come…” came the reply over the clatter in the kitchen.“You know what I hate about a birthday today?”“No, what?”“…always feel a bit short-changed…you know”Jane now stood in the kitchen doorway. She wiped her hand on the tea towel she was holding and dropped it on the dining room table as she walked towards the living room couch. With each step, she gently slid the sundress’ spaghetti straps from her shoulders. By the time she reached her husband her pendulous breasts were fully exposed. Her fingertips caressed her nipples. They hardened. Now she swivelled her hips and the dress dropped to the floor. He gasped and muttered something unintelligible. His hand reached out. She brushed it away and knelt before him.Her fingers deftly.
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