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" Dylan shyly looked down at his feet. In total shock of the words he just spoke out loud to me. However, his gaze got stuck on my bulge. The throbbing cock had made itself clearly visible in my leather jeans. It wanted that punk-ass badly. And I sort of agreed with that suggestion. Certainly, once I saw Dylan's gaze fixated on it for far too long.I stroked my shaft seductively and told the boy: "In that case, Dylan, why don't I give you a load of my cream as your birthday gift?" Expecting the boy to do a runner. But he did no such thing. He even smirked dirty and stepped closer. Looking at me with begging eyes, as he moaned hornily. "Go for it, dirty punk..." Dylan cupped a feel of the hot rod in my leather pants. Groaning a little and breathing a lot faster. "Do you like that, Stockman?... Stroking a big black man-cock?... Tell me... Where do you like me to plant my seed?... Right up your ass... or deep down your throat?"Without giving him time to think about it, I pulled the lads'. Rebecca said, “Look at my quilts — they’re just patchwork. Pieces of different fabric sewed together. But Rosie, she’s fancy. It’s called applique in that magazine. What she did was cut her other fabrics into different shapes. Then stitched hundreds of them down onto the whole cloth.”You could just glance at it and tell a lot of work had gone into it. And that Rosie had a pretty good eye for design.Well, we’d see what the Gilmore Girls had to say on the matter.Hotel Timmy was immensely proud of his mother, Hannah. And she was respected by the other whores. Respected for her intelligence, experience, and the way she had of making customers act, almost, like gentlemen.Rosie and the boy, close in age, became friends. Like the sporting ladies, Rosie looked out for him, was protective of his innocent, gentle ways. One night in bed, she told Rebecca and me, “Hotel Timmy told me that birth story again.”Rebecca raised her eyebrows in a question.“He said, ‘My mother worked right up to the day.
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