Friends

My name is Carol and I live alone in a small two-bedroom apartment in a suburb of a big city on the east coast. One of my closest friends is a girl named Lisa. Recently, I invited Lisa to spend the night at my house. We hadn’t met in a while and I thought it would be a good time to talk about girls. We work in different jobs and are far enough away to make a long distance call when we talk, so we usually don’t talk for long.

I haven’t seen him since I was 18, and now, 30 years later, he’s been back in our town. At the gas station where I saw him, I told him to come for a beer, the woman was out of town and I had nothing to do, fortunately, his wife was still out of the state packing for the new house. He had arrived at 8:00 and we sat down and talked about the good old days and drank a lot of beer.

It wasn’t a plan, but I expected it to work that way. I had planned “one day” to take a friend for a motorcycle. Her name is Debbie. Debbie is a pretty, not beautiful, dirty blonde. She’s got pretty, tip-sized tits by promising bumps.

We agreed to meet with her daughter in Boston, and I picked her up on my Harley Sportster. We stopped at the bank and then boarded for a trip to the Mohawk Trail. It is a little known secret that the bad road 2 has become a beautiful picturesque country that leads to Greenfield, MA.