|
NorthOfNorth
|
Lisa Jones wrote on Nov 22 nd, 2021 at 1:35pm: NorthOfNorth wrote on Nov 22 nd, 2021 at 12:05pm: NorthOfNorth wrote on Nov 22 nd, 2021 at 10:56am: NorthOfNorth wrote on Nov 22 nd, 2021 at 7:55am: NorthOfNorth wrote on Nov 21 st, 2021 at 11:23pm: Lisa Jones wrote on Nov 21 st, 2021 at 8:47pm: Frank wrote on Nov 21 st, 2021 at 8:36pm: Jim Lahey wrote on Nov 21 st, 2021 at 11:20am: LOL doing a great job of ignoring me Valkie...
You have been pood on so much, Turdovich, that you are no longer visible under the pile of shite. You are one with it. Hey Frank Pecktard's poo continues here ....try not to laugh too much though She ambled back from her meeting with the occupant four sites down, unlocked the door to her caravan, as an unfamiliar sensation of integration with the cosmos rippled through her like an implacable process of geology. Finally, she thought, as she undressed then rubbed herself down with dry shower powder, someone who understands her; maybe even he's her intellectual equal. Sure he was an ex-priest and, well, he did hit the sauce a bit hard around the start of the Sabbath... Hmm... The Sabbath... Was he a priest or a rabbi? In all the chatter about herself, her multiple real estate deals, her medical conditions, her academic achievements, her direct relationship to seven European royal houses, she'd not asked. She'd just assumed. After all, she'd noticed the contents of his opened wardrobe; all black suits. Do rabbis also only wear black, she wondered. As she lay on the bed, while outside evening deepened into night, she noticed the bed was still skew-whiff; something for another day, she decided. Right now her most pressing thought, that would soon consume her dreams, was how to manage this ex-priest, ex-rabbi, whatever, towards helping her do in the park manager. Her eyes snapped open. Was that a toilet flushing? She glanced at her watch: 2:00AM. She crept to the caravan's back window, which faced the park's office, and took a furtive look. The office light was on. Were those voices she could hear? They were. The park manager had someone with him in his office. How many, she wondered. She tried to listen to the conversation, but it was too far away and they were talking in hushed tones. No matter, she reasoned, this is the smoking gun. She was sure of it. The park manager was on meth and he was organising a deal with his supplier. So, what to do, she pondered. Call the cops? Yes... That would be the right thing to do with a serious drug deal going down... But, then, the park manager might not know that it was her who'd done him in. And she wasn't having that. The park manager must be done in and he must know that it was she who'd done it. She was going to bust the lot of them herself, she resolved. She dressed herself and exited her caravan beating a quiet, stealthy path to the office. They were still in there. Two strangers were talking. They had accents. An international connection, eh. Even better. She crept to the office door and tried the handle. The door was unlocked. She opened it and slithered through. They were in the back room. The foreigners were still talking. She sidled up to the room's entrance, took a breath, braced herself... Then sprung. So! She yelled. Busted! The park manager exploded out of his slumber, dazed and confused. Wha.. What? He mumbled. He stared at her in shock. His long-handled torch was not by the armchair he'd fallen asleep in, so he felt defenseless. On the TV Humphrey Bogart was bidding Ingrid Bergman a final farewell. ^^^ This guy the one who is chatting to himself over and over and over again is the same guy who comes online to diagnose others with a plethora of psychological and psychiatric illnesses. And who also comes online to post about watching women sexually pleasure themselves. Now back in her caravan, she was in a funk. Things had taken a turn. They'd gone south. The park manager was going to call the cops... Put in a complaint of breaking and entering for sure. She'd be evicted from the park. She needed to think this one through. She needed to think hard... She needed friends... Yes friends... An alibi. The ex-priest, ex-rabbi, whatever... Maybe she could get him to admit that he'd told her he thought the park manager was on meth... Yes... Then she could say she acted in good conscience. But he was often pissed and ranting about some bishop or whoever rabbis bow to... But that was usually on Fridays... She'd contact him in the morning. From the caravan, she could hear the park manager in the office muttering... Or was he on the phone to the cops? She couldn't tell. It was going to be a long night before she could get to the priest, rabbi, whatever.
|
Forum
Pages: 
British Porn? (Read 12085 times)
