It took another twenty minutes before he was addressing the customs agent. He handed him his passport and plane ticket. ‘You’re a US citizen, Mis...er Morrison?’ the agent asked. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Where do you live in New York?’ the agent questioned. ‘In Queens, sir,’ John replied, wondering why the guy asked looking right at his address. ‘Mets or Yankees?’ the agent queried with a smile. ‘Mets,’ John responded, smiling back. ‘Have a fun vacation, Mr. Morrison.’ ‘Thanks.’ Leaving the customs area. "I'm serious. We could do one where I'm pointing my finger at Peter, with his cock barely tucked into his boxers, while he protests his innocence." Well, that makes some sense, but I don't want to expand on this series without a really good fifth painting. I don't want to overuse an idea." Oh, I've got a good one," Meagan informed the adults. "In the final painting, Peter's cock will suddenly pop free from his boxers, and you'll paint a big rope of cum flying straight at my belly." Meagan, no!. More

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