”“Isn’t a blood diamond.”Walker used to lap up info about my sex life. He was hungry for details, an avid listener. Now? Not so much.First, and probably foremost, he was getting pussy. The cure-all for many of the woes of the world. Second, I believed, wanted to believe anyway, was that he’d become more comfortable with my ongoing relationship with Mr. Matthew Striker.Walker seemed to accept that it was necessary for me to spend this much time with Matt — not a single complaint. Whatever was required to get Wexler out of our lives.And Vanessa reinforced the get-rid-of-Wexler philosophy. So Walker’s acceptance was part practicality and part his growing sense that Matt was not a threat to my marriage.Speaking of the guy ... I was lying in Mr. No-Threat’s arms as he told me about the wrong turn the Whittaker Fund scam had taken.“We knew from the jump that it could go off the rails at any of several points.”‘We’. Matt, Constance, and Ash. And, sort of, me.“What happened?”“Well, you know. She won't show anything unless they ask for it with their eyes and gestures. Those that fit this bill received a delightful sight as she opened her shirt to reveal nice breasts, cupped them and sucked her nipples. The drivers would really smile at that and ask for more. Several I talked to on my CB radio and two who voiced their appreciation got the full Monty. She was sitting next to me in our pick-up middle seat and would turn to the side as much as her seatbelt would allow. She pulled her skirt up to her waist and opened her legs then opened her pussy lips showing the shiny, wet pinkness between. She fingered herself a few seconds, the while making eye contact with the driver, smell her scent and taste her wetness.When we pulled into the one rest stop on that leg, there were no trucks to play with so we journeyed on.Our first night in Corpus was at a motel on the bay front. After a nice Alaskan king crab dinner at Landry's, we caught a cab to a strip club. The club was.
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