My name is Carol and I live alone in a small two-bedroom apartment in a suburb of a big city on the east coast. One of my best friends is a girl named Lisa. Recently I invited Lisa to stay with me. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I thought it would be a good time for a girl talk. We work on different jobs and are far enough apart to make it a long-distance conversation when we talk, so we usually don’t talk long.
I hadn’t seen him since we were 18, and now, 30 years later, he had moved back to our city. At the gas station where I saw him, I told him to stop by for a beer, the woman was out of town and I had nothing to do, fortunately his wife was not yet able to pack something for the new house. He arrived at eight o’clock and we sat and talked about old times and drank a lot of beer.
It wasn’t really a plan, but I expected it to go like this. I had “one day” plans to bring a friend of mine on a motorcycle ride. Her name is Debbie. Debbie’s a beautiful, not beautiful, dirty blonde. She tipped off beautiful big tits with promising bumps.
We met at her daughter’s house in Boston, and I picked her up at my Harley Sports Star. We stopped at the bank and started a trip across the Mohawk Trail. It’s a secret that the ugly, busy Route 2 becomes a beautiful, picturesque country, riding along Greenfield, MA.