The Making Off Indian Girl

" It's not too far." Where is it? I didn't know there were any hollowed out volcanos around here." No, none at all." I know. It's underwater ... maybe in the duck pond?" Too shallow." OK, it's on the moon!" No, that would be a bit of a commute." OK, I give up, where is it?" It's in my parent's garage." Is it a secret garage?" Oh yes, very secret. I put signs up and everything," I said with my best straight faced serious expression.Vicky nodded at me seriously for a few moments before her face began to show some strain and then finally she cracked up. The two of us were roaring with laughter. We continued for quite a while till a smiling Miss Gordon came over, "Try to keep it down a little, girls."We nodded and tried to stop laughing but it wouldn't take much for one of us to set the other off again. This went on for several minutes until suddenly Vicky's eyes locked on something behind us and all the laughter drained out of her. I spun round and saw Colin walking towards us his face. She finished with the roses and sashayed across the patio in a pair of Gucci heels, her unfastened, silk chiffon gown billowing behind her like the Bond theme had just kicked in. I doubled down on the notion when she grasped a Martini from atop a white trestle table, lit up a smoke, and regaled herself on one of the four ornate chairs. I guessed Mr Parslow was somewhere in his mid-sixties. His wife looked a touch younger, though affluence and a good pair of false tits can take ten years off a woman. Hers were fucking huge. But it was hard to get beyond her husband’s sandals. Or those socks. I never once saw him wearing one without the other, which always seemed like such a fashion faux pas for a nudist. He was the sort of man that could get away with it. The rich, confident ones always can. I’d been contemplating the style inclinations of men who match Jerusalem Cruisers with socks as Mr Parslow keenly set up his amateur photo studio around me. ‘He’s got a thing for feet,’ Mrs.
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