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I woke up when I heard a female voice saying “Don’t you think you got enough sun yet”? It was the women from the pontoon boat. I tried to wake up and said that I like a good tan, so I can never have enough sun. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” she replied, referring to the tan I guess. I agreed, grabbed something to drink and asked her if she wanted something too. She already had a drink and told me that she only drinks vodka, which I do too.Then she asked me if I was waiting for someone, which I did not, I just wanted to swim, tan and relax. “So do I” she said, “I usually go in the middle of the lake and anchor, away from the crowd”. I said that I like that too.She asked me if I wanted to come onto her pontoon, she was by herself, we could lay down there and chit chat. Besides this and other chit-chatting we were having, we had a few drinks and probably a good buzz.So I grabbed my towel, sun lotion and yes, drink, and went onto the pontoon with here. Before I was even able to pick a. My wife is not a patient woman...and earlier tonight, she'd met me at the door when I got home from the gym with a stiff drink. "Here...pound this down, and hit the shower. There will be another one waiting for you when you get out!" "Thanks...I think?" I said, questioning. "We're going out. We're going to be bad. You're going to get a few drinks in you before we leave. I'll be driving!" OK!" I said, shrugging my shoulders. I slammed the 7&7, and it was a strong one. I took a quick shower, and there was another double strength one waiting when I emerged. "I want you to wear the clothes I put on the bed. Nothing else!" she told me, handing me the drink. I pounded it down, and headed to the bed. She'd put a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the bed. Those, and a pair of deck shoes were my ensemble for the night. I grabbed my wallet, and drank a third, STRONG drink that had appeared out of nowhere. My cock was semi hard, knowing she was going to get me into trouble. We drove to an adult.
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She shrugged. ‘Just blue, but you know how people are. Every other house is white, they want it white. Goodness, the way everyone went on, you would have thought they’d painted it purple and orange and put in searchlights.’ Chris chuckled at the image. She told him a few more tidbits and he nodded at each one until one piece of information caught his attention. ‘Then there was the trouble at the Fordham place a couple of nights ago.’ ‘Trouble? What kind of trouble?’ Chris stopped eating. No one named Fordham had lived in the house for ages, but that was how everyone knew the big colonial at the end of town — the Fordham place. It was old, with peeling paint that had probably once been white. It had seen a few different owners while Chris was growing up, and more than one had tried repainting and remodeling, but it never stuck. The kids told each other it was haunted and dared the braver ones to sneak close to it on Halloween. Chris had gone once — alone, and not on Halloween — and.

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