She recrossed her legs and Ben, almost shot his wad. The sight of those legs moving in a scissoring action was almost more than he could take. Things hadn’t been too good at home lately and he needed his ashes hauled – bad. “I’d be lying like a rug if I told you that wasn’t partly why you got the job as weathergirl. Weatherperson,” he corrected himself as he saw her swelling with indignation. “You’re goddamn attractive, but you’re qualified for the job, too. Overqualified. You have your degree in journalism but you’ve got to put in your time before you move up around here.”
He was glad when they rolled over, when his mom spread the marvelous shaping of her thighs and lifted her knees, for then he could see the deep pink lips that peeped so cunningly from the matting of her cunt hair. But the view was too quick, cut off far too soon, when his father crawled in between the long, veed legs.