She was my mother, after all. It was wrong, forbidden, and she had always raised me to be a gentleman. And gentleman do not stare at their mother's qu...vering bosom, or her luscious long legs, or at the juncture of her thighs, wondering whether she was shaved or hairy, what the lips of her sex might look like, if her labia minora might poke, enticingly, outside of that mound.But she made it so terribly difficult for me not to look. There were days when, for reasons known only to herself, she. I breathed in deep the potent scent of alcohol, smoke and sexual excitement, knowing in my forever still heart that tonight would be a success. Making my way to the entrance of the bar I was soon to occupy, I ran one hand through my wind-blown, raven hair and adjusted my corset simultaneously. My skin-tight black denim needed no correcting. I knew that I would appeal to nearly everyone in the building with my long, ebony hair, creamy skin, mile-long legs, shapely figure and larger breasts,. More

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