She would slide off, tell me it was okay, then get herself off with one of the toys in her collection.My inability to make her cum only added to my feelings of inadequacy. I started working extended hours so that I could avoid coming home and facing my wife. I was working late on a Wednesday evening when my semi-estranged sister called me from out of the blue.“Mike, it’s Terry,” she said, waiting for me to recognize her voice.I knew who it was immediately. I hadn’t spoken with my sister Terry in over five years. The last time we talked, she had been hitting me up for money to help get Christmas presents for her five kids. Her deadbeat husband had lost the money they had set aside for the holidays on a series of lousy football bets.“Yeah,” I replied coldly, “what do you want?”“Mom’s dead,” was all she said. I hung up and called my parent’s home. My Aunt Meg answered and confirmed what my sister had reported. My mother had suffered a heart attack during her sleep and never woke up. My. The food was very Japanese in character with fine white rice, little pieces of fish marinated in soy sauce and delicate shrimps. There didn’t seem much chance of her gaining weight in the gardens. In fact she was thankful that the meal was so light for otherwise it might have distracted her from her host and she found it difficult to not stare at the extraordinary Japanese woman. She had a gracefulness that possibly only the Mistress of the Great Hall could have matched although she lacked the simmering sensuality of that rival. She just seemed so delicate. You would be afraid to touch her for fear of her shattering in your hands or of disturbing her tranquillity. But as Jennifer watched her she realised that this tiny woman was much less fragile than she appeared. She held an aura of immutable timelessness about her as if the world beyond her domain could change, crash in ruin or wither away and yet leave this woman and her garden unaltered. Like bamboo she might bend in the wind.
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