Sabrina and I were looking through binoculars at the festivities on the beach, separate binocs. Presently, Stansfield was doing his best imitation of ... man about to bury the hatchet, so to speak. Only his hatchet was on the short side. I’m not one to compare, but I can see why his wife preferred the axe in my pants to the hatchet in his. Stansfield had his hands on his secretary’s breasts and was doing a maneuver that I would have expected someone molding clay would use. I’m pretty sure he was. We held each other's eyes, and as soon as she touched my 'breasts'she stopped."They're fake?" Yes," I responded."Oh right," she said, and then continued with a comment that I never sawcoming, "that's nothing to be ashamed of. I know lots of people who areflat-chested and need to wear falsies." She carried on stroking my breastand then looked at me mischievously before adding, "but mine aren't."I didn't need to be invited twice, and I slipped the strap of hernightdress off her shoulder to expose. More

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