I open the top drawer to find various socks, panties, thongs, and g-strings. I take out a thong and press it to my nose, inhaling, desperate to get a ...hiff of her, until now imagined, sex. She must be a good house-wife, because her thong is clean, I can't smell any pussy. I walk to the closet and slowly open the door. I am five feet away from her husband, who is sleeping quietly. I find a laundry basket, and still tucked into a pair of sweats, is a dirty thong. Jackpot! I press them to my nose. Somehow I feared the impression I was making wasn't supportive of my masculine image."I thought you were going to autograph the CAST," I said."Me too," she said, tilting her head and looking at my genitals. At least that's what I thought she was checking out.Acting as if nothing had happened, she again sat beside me and wrote "Bobbie was here," on the very top of the plaster cast, right next to my penis."There! How's that look?" she asked as she finished."That's MY question; you think of your. More

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