"What was that all about," I asked."How would I know, these are your friends," Wilma said."They might be my friends, but you seem to be right into it....I can't believe you wore your running clothes," I laughed at her as I had done in the apartment, when I first saw them. Wilma wore satin shorts, the style women wore to the gym. Simple shorts with an elastic waist. She also wore an almost sweat shirt. It was heavy enough to hide her saggy breasts even though she wore no bra.When I looked up, I. The air was permeated with a haze of sweet reefer smoke wafting above the crowd as our instrumental rumbled to a climax, our lead singer hollering ”thank you!!” to the throng and yelling out the count to our last tune, a hot little blues number about a cat caught playing in the wrong kittens bed. As our bass player Lance thumped out the opening notes I heard a audible squeal of ecstasy escape her luscious lips, her body shaking and wiggling with delight.I reckon I should describe this hot. More

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