Right here and now.The storage area we were in was in a part of the radio station used only by the DJ's to store equipment and prizes for their remote broadcasts, and for the janitorial supplies. And neither janitor came in until 11 that day - it was 9:30 in the morning - so I knew we would be all alone. But just in case, I reached over and locked the door."You're serious, aren't you? But, uh, Jerry, what about...uh..." Look, Jerry knows," I said. "Well, he knows that I'm going to be showing my tits to another guy. It's part of a plan we have to, you know, improve things in the bedroom."And with that, Steve, although still looking a bit confused, started to rub his crouch a bit. I don't even think he knew he was doing it."So you're gonna show me your tits for my birthday?" said Steve."Yup. You ready? Sit down."Steve calmly sat down, the bulge in his crotch ever growing. I was so nervous that I had started to sweat. But I gotta admit, a bit excited myself, too!I checked the door one. Either that, or she might be truly intrigued with the practice. I figured that it would pass, and as long as she didn't expect me to return the favor, I would be okay with it. I just wouldn't kiss her right afterward.As always, my woman's Neapolitan heritage showed up in her cooking. Early on in our relationship, I tried to be somewhat egalitarian in the kitchen sense, helping out and so forth. Desiree soon disabused me of such rubbish, as she thought of it. In her mind, it was her second most sacred duty to fill my belly, superseded only by a woman's proper service to a man in the bedroom. I suppose that not all Old World traditions die out, even in a modern American female. As liberated as she was in some ways, Des wouldn't let me usurp her rightful place as the household cook.Naturally, her tastes ran strongly in the direction of pasta, olive oil, vegetables, cheese, and Italian sausage. Since such food was comforting and filled one's belly, I wasn't the sort to complain about her.
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