Her name is Claire and our relationship replaced the non-existent one she had with her husband. He is some kind of executive and barely even acknowledges her presence. I gave my mother all the love she needed, but was just a big chicken shit about showing her how much and in which ways I wanted her. She had wanted me too, and what a dope I had been concerning the many cues she had tried to give me.Now, though, my passion for this woman was as evident as the pre-cum glistening at the tip of my cock and which she had her attention riveted on. As soon as she had touched the underside of my cock, it had started to grow again, reacting to the sight of her, her touch, her voice, even her smell. She touched me the way only a mother can, and I swear to god that when she dipped her finger in to swipe that pre-cum out of me, she managed to get her entire fingertip inside the mouth of my cock. No other woman could have done that. She then wiped it in my mouth, making me eat the salty. Sherry went on to explain that the North American audience is fickle, and really doesn't give a crap about how another country plays their game. In her mind, the main thing that any puritan American wanted to know about another country (and perhaps the only thing) was what sort of perverse things did they do behind closed doors. I tried to look bewildered, and tried to explain to Sherry that I was a sportswriter, not some sort of voyeuristic tabloid journalist. "Cut the crap" she said, "I know you have been working on a piece about futunari. Did you think I wouldn't hear about that". I looked sheepishly at her, knowing that I had been using her money and time to fuel my own work. "Look" she added, "the thing you don't know is that every white boy who spends any time in Tokyo starts to get their mind messed up with that futunari shit. Let it go. It doesn't exist. You're barking up a tree that ain't there". I looked her square in the eye and said "What if I told you that I.
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