Pak Randi Strip Her Cloths And Saying Lo Talashi

Ahem..down and dirty? Like you like?" She made a very delicate, feminine gesture of a woman squatting to pee."For your birthday, we want to be kinky with you, in the bed of one the queens of it....would you like that?"If you can imagine me without words."But you have to sing a song for us in that dress, Sylvia, do you understand?"Did I understand? I had the song in my head before she posed the question.So there I was, a snotty, bratty little girl, not at all pretty, sixteen, in Edith Piaf's 1948 Oscar gown, in Norma Shearer's bedroom, singing "La Vie en Rose" and twirling around, gesturing with my face and body, as if this was the last song I was going to sing before I faced the Gestapo firing squad, waiting, bored, in the rain-soaked alley behind the theater. In my fantasy, I threw the blindfold they had given me into the gutter, crushed the Gaulois I had been smoking with my high heel into the cobblestones, looked into the eyes of each of my executioners, cursed them for their tiny. Didn't mean it. Honest. Peace. Peace?" Then, turning to my mother, I added in a stage whisper, "She's cute when she's mad, isn't she?"Mom leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes and voice softened. "You two remind me so much of me and Jim, I can't get over it." Her nipples were poking through her robe. I tried not to stare. I failed.The voice in my head asked, "Did you and Uncle Jim fool around, Mom?" But the voice that came out of my head asked, "You guys ever double date, Mom?"She smiled that special smile of remembrance. "Sure. Lots. We'd share all our stuff with each other. He always had an opinion of the guys who'd ask me out. Some were OK and some were not. And he'd always ask me about the girls he dated. Things like... " and then she suddenly stopped talking, seemingly embarrassed.Stepping into the embarrassed silence, I said, "That hasn't changed. If it wasn't for my wise counsel, Jean'd date some real weirdos, I can tell you that."Jean surprised.
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