I looked over at Tiff, who was coming to grips with her task. She looked at Jen, then she looked at me. Back and forth she went, until she spoke up.�...Jen, please don’t be mad but, can I pick Jeff?”“Sure you can, that’s the rules, in fact I prefer you do.” Jen replied laughing.Tiff looked over at me and gave me a “what the heck” shrug and moved over closer to me. Jen suggested I lay out on the sofa and she moved over to my chair. I did as I was told and laid face down on the sofa. Jen agreed to. Cocking her head, she approved of the way it supported her balcony of formidable cleavage. Garterless thigh high silk stockings were next, followed by the final, potential obstacle to feeling genuinely sexy -- the relative fit of her rather snug (lately, at least), rather short, and rather low cut black cocktail dress. She shimmied with some effort and drew it down over her womanly hips and ripe behind. Zipped up and assessing herself in profile, she was grateful for having had the will to. More

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