Traffic was light, crossing the road between us and the studio. I marched across it, my son and daughter following me. Then my son darted ahead. He gr...bbed the door of the studio, jerking on it.A bell jingled as it rattled. My son groaned. “It’s locked, Dad. Is there a back way in?”I locked around, assessing the situation. Garnet posed nearby, her hips wiggling in her tight jeans. She was acting sexy, fluttering her eyes at me, being my whore. She cocked her hips, letting me get a look at that. Third down, they put it in the air and I grab it.And make it to the 26. We have fifty-six seconds on the clock as the defensive line hits the bench and special teams goes on to the field. I've seen Faroud do this a hundred times. He looks like a dancer, graceful, sleek, and elegant in profile as the ball aches through the goalposts. You can barely hear the final whistle in all the crowd noise. We didn't make the playoffs - but at least we beat Essex. I can live with that.The celebration after. I was beyond cold, logical thought on the matter, long since -- probably since just after our first meeting, if I cared to admit it."I've eaten," I told her. "Give me a sec and we can watch TV or something that lets you use your eyeballs." I threw on the mask. We cuddled and did this and that -- it turns out that she isn't much more into TV than I am and we ended up doing role-play on her computer. I teased her with comments like, "An elven mage with jugs like these ... double threat!" Later,. Harry slipped silently out of bed and walked to Hermione's doorway, worried about what was bothering her, and still wondering where Ron might have gone. He was mesmerized by the sight before him, as he too pulled back the canvas flap; Ron and Hermione locked in a loving embrace, their lips melted together, with Ron's totally naked and muscular body, visibly tense as it pressed against Hermione's smaller, softer and also very bare form. It was the most beautiful and most erotic thing Harry had.
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