“Then you could translate everything Miss Little says for me and I can grunt and mutter back to you in Russian.”“Dad!” protested Bonnie and ro...led her eyes.“Miss Little has already met you several times,” I said, “and she knows you speak perfectly good English. Besides, neither of us speak a word of Russian so how’s that supposed to work?”“Brevka,” said Dad in a fake-Russian accent. “Dassayovitch.”“What does that mean?” I askedHe shrugged. “Haven’t got a clue. But it sure sounded ... ouch.” He. He was staring eagerly at the pretty blonde news caster on the sports news channel, before muttering "God. I'd give her one!" Yeah. For about thirty seconds!" i replied cheekily."Fuck off, you little prick!" replied my father unhappily.I then got up, pulled off my t-shirt that stank of sweat and last nights beer, and then shuffled into the kitchen in just my jeans.As i stepped in i saw my tall slim blonde mother stood by the cooker, in just a pair of white panties and bra that barely held in. More

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