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Walker couldn’t remember a word the men with him in the box seats said, but that game is etched in his little brainpan. Bulldog gave him a baseball autographed by the guy who hit that home run. Whose name I never can remember.So I knew I would do whatever it is that Bulldog asked. It would be fair, proportional to my talents. And maybe even appropriate. Perhaps even legal. I reached for a pen.He didn’t shake his head no, but sent out some sort of signal. I put the pen back down.“Hotel Phillips. Room 707. Two men, you know one of them, 3 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”“Okay.” I was waiting for some guidance, some perspective, some ... something.He gave me a half salute and was gone. I didn’t bother to look out my office windows to Genessee. Bulldog’s driver and bodyguard, Emile, would be opening the back door of that gleaming black Cadillac, the one with the extra legroom in back. No KC cop would ever pull that car over; no meter maid would ever ticket it.Emile was in his 50s and no one. I lifted my hands back above the blanket so as to look innocent, which I was far from. Tilting the seat back, and lowering the food tray to hide my erection, I was pleasantly surprised when I felt a soft grip around my cock, I was even more pleased when I felt her begin to stroke my cock with her petite hands. Closing my eyes as if sleeping, I could feel her lift my arm around her head so that my left hand resting on her breast, feeling her hard nipple under my finger. Anyone walking by would have simply seen what appeared to have been a married couple napping on a flight home, or perhaps a vacation somewhere, no one would have guessed that these two strangers were partaking in this adulteress act. Still feigning sleep, I tried to pull my lovers head closer to my lap.There was resistance, thinking that I was not going to ruin this good thing I stopped. To my dismay, she removed her hand from my hard cock and rolled over to her left side. What an idiot, here I was getting a wonderful.
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