.. quietude. A formal politeness. Vanessa and I had learned not to try to patch things over; just give them some time and the storm cloud would pass.Except this one didn’t.A weekend turned into a week. Pilar had become so intimately integrated into our family ... well, she was missed. Walker, of course, didn’t talk about it. He’s a boy, he’s 15, he’s ... girl-stupid.Vanessa invited Pilar to lunch at our loft on the second Saturday of her self-imposed exile to Brookside. Pilar accepted, but turned down a ride, “I’ll just take the Max.” Main Street Max, about 20-minutes to the Crossroads.Pilar was her usual sprightly self — chatty, friendly — over lunch. I’d made a run to Bryant’s at 18th and Brooklyn in the Forgotten Northeast for bar-b-que. A slab for each of us, plenty of those fried-in-lard fries. Which Walker refreshed in our largest cast-iron frying pan.Ice-cold St. Pauli girl all around.Walker was ... not subdued, not exactly. More cautious than anything. Didn’t want to blurt out. With one hand poking her pussy, I slowly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and slowly pulled it down. She raised her buttocks from the mattress allowing me to remove her jeans and I pulled it slowly down her fleshy thighs, removed it and threw it over her shirt. I got so thrilled and horny looking at her light rose coloured panty, the same colour as her bra, and without wasting any time grabbed her panty over her waist, pulled it down, removed it in one stroke and dropped it over the mattress itself. Unlike last night, though her pussy looked almost the same like a straight line, I saw her pussy opened a bit right at the bottom with a small portion of her vagina flesh visible. It was wet and I got really tempted looking at her flesh, unlike last night where it looked like a straight black line, and slowly went up kissing her legs, her knees, the inner sides of her thighs and as I got closer to her pussy, I got a bit nervous not knowing what to do. Her pussy was smelling a bit, but I.
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