He really needed to find new lines for rich traditions and forefathers. He kept using those words over and over and over. And, hey, what about the for...mothers, asshole? He spoke far too long and fatuously, and his tone was the same smarmy, insincere one he would use while refilling a womans champagne flute while trying to look down her dress. I was pretty sure I wouldnt be getting a cocktail, though. More likely cock. Sure enough, as he wrapped up his interminably long remarks with yet another. She left me a note saying she had to travel to a sales convention, and would be gone until Sunday night. I locked up the office and warehouse, and headed home, trying to sort out the pros and cons of my situation. I parked my car in the garage, and walked the driveway to the house, and as soon as I went in, the phone rang. "Trev...this is Gloria...you must be tired and hungry," she said. "As a matter of fact, I am," I replied. "Will you come over for dinner?", she asked. I wanted to tell her I. More

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