081413 #worm Now he was getting somewhere. Now he was getting hard. His dogged determination to become nostalgic was finally gaining ground. The wine was probably helping. That sleek chest, that impudent laugh, those succulent cheeks, bolstered by the force of Ltiky's backwards-looking, lonely lust, were disintegrating the piled-up barricades of years of sensible experience. Cock in hand, wine bottle empty, he was really impressing himself now. He knew she wouldn't look the same anymore. She would have to be fatter, or thinner, or wiser--he pictured little crow's feet, and curiously, his arousal surged! He knew she could never be so cruel to him again. He knew for an absolute certainty that there was no way she would show up wearing that same leather skirt she used to wear. Nevertheless --