" Michael was a guest in my dumpy hotel room, by the harbor in Vancouver BC, as his hostel near Gastown was having some real problems. This was 1972,...or '73. It was a one night thing, and I'd had no thoughts of having sex with Mike or any other man. Still, he made it sound very sexy. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Maybe we could just stroke off, and watch each other?" The idea was a turn on, and I told him OK, but just that. I wasn't interested in anything more. In truth,. "Oh, crap," Andy muttered again."Andy?" Camille asked with a raised eyebrow."It's nothing ... illegal," he protested. "It's just embarrassing." What is it, Andy?" Rita asked.Andy looked toward the clear blue sky. The chance of a lightning bolt killing him was remote."Underwear," he said with a sigh."There's nothing embarrassing about boxer shorts," Anne said with a laugh."Not my underwear, Grandma," Andy said."How did you get a pair of Regan's panties?" Rita asked."Not hers, either," Andy. Layla had never experienced this level of roughness before but loved it. Gilbert’s coarse farmer’s hands were slightly scratchy, but the thrill far outweighed the discomfort.Gilbert let go of Layla momentarily, before pulling his t-shirt off and once more reclaiming his vice like grip on her. Layla imbibed his wonderful farmer odour, which was exaggerated by the powerful heat of his sexual excitement. As Gilbert’s hand action escalated, his attention to her nipple also intensified. He began to. He spoke other languages too. He spoke Urdu, Punjabi, Pashto, Sindhi, and Balochi, as if he was born there. Having an ear for languages, when in Iraq, he also spoke Kurdish and Arabic, and Pashto, and Dari when in Afghanistan. With him having the intelligence, the will, and the Navy Seal training behind him, he was a one-man spy network. He had no shortage of espionage equipment given him by the CIA. With his credentials suspended from his neck and a windbreaker with PRESS written on his back.
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