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She turned and slapped him, grabbed the clip and put her hair up again. She was going to stay en femme. He shrugged, dropped his shorts to reveal a flowered bikini-bottom, pulled a matching top out of his bag and put that on, then inserted foam pads. Meredith choked over his beer, while Jeannine's lobster was cooling rapidly. Bikini-man turned his back to Krysta and gestured. She started plaiting his hair for him, coiled it around his head and pinned it on top. He added a pair of hoop ear-rings, rather like the ones Krysta herself was wearing, and then started to apply make-up. Krysta did his eyes for him and then applied artificial nails, like hers. Meredith finished his beer, Jeannine her lobster, and Meredith ordered a bowl of callaloo soup. The other table had another round of beer and then left, without eating anything. Karen brought over the callaloo. "What do you think of my floor show?" "Does it happen often?" "Almost every day for the last week. I've no objection to. Weston. There it was. He frowned, as he read through what it said. He’d forgotten that she’d been the one that called attention to the Whitestone woman whose husband was now suing the department. Anger rose in him as he thought about that. Between Angelo Costa’s threats and the harassment suit, that fucker was becoming a serious issue. The suit was causing Harrison problems upstairs, and if it hadn’t been for Father Bob’s connections, it might have caused him real trouble. He’d backed off going after Whitestone officially, but had already decided that the man had caused him enough trouble. He wondered why the hell the Tankers hadn’t taken care of that issue yet. Useless fucks. Well, no matter. He had connections of his own.Turning his attention to the issue at hand, he returned to his reading and saw that Weston was dating somebody named Scott Turcotte. The information about him indicated that he was a bit older than her and he was a martial arts master. Harrison snorted. Whatever..
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She looked fifty if she was a day. Her huge bosoms wobbled obscenely as there was no way she could find a brassiere big enough out west. She had to be sixty inches around her tits, with a fifty nine inch waist. Maybe sixty round the waist if you could find it. Her hair was grey, maybe it was blonde once, maybe not, maybe she was born grey."Hi, you got raped right?" the Sheriff asked."Sure did, twelve inches of iron hard cock." she agreed."Gee that poor bastard must have been desperate," Dolly whispered to herself."He fucked into me three times," Widow Mason agreed."Sure, and how did he escape?" Dolly asked."Out the window when I was not looking," Widow Mason agreed. "Right we got cock hunting to do," the Sheriff announced, "Now is this around the right size?" he asked and he produced the iron cock."I guess," Widow Mason admitted."You maybe want to try it?" Dolly asked."I said it looks right." Widow Mason insisted."Well I don't believe you!" Dolly insisted."Yeah Katherine, I reckon.

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