WFinally I Fucked My Indian Roommate

” Lisa had just come in to start cleaning a few things up when she asked me what was wrong. I explained to her and she just kissed me and said I’m sure you’ll be ok. “I’ll tell you what Mac. I’ll go all in and even if I beat you I’ll let you have the cash in exchange for something else.” Al had this evil look in his eye but with his money and what’s already in the pot, I was looking at almost $10,000. “What are you talking about?” I asked suspiciously. “Well you seem really confident, and you know how good I am at bluffing so how about if you win you take your share and I’ll keep mine. If I win you keep everything. I’ll even throw in another ten grand.”“You’re not making any sense.” “If I win you get a lot of money, but I get your wife until next weeks poker night.”“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I bellowed, causing everyone but Al to jump. “Hey, all you have to do is say no Mac. There’s no need to get angry. I’m beginning to think you’re trying to bluff me. I know if I had a sure. He didn’t know what it was about this woman, but ever since he’d met her, he’d been almost constantly hard, imagining all sorts of dirty and wicked things about that body of hers. Then again, he was human, and she was…well, stacked. He backtracked and almost laughed at that thought, ‘ever since he’d met her.’ By his way of thinking, he’d only met her a month or so ago. Luke remembered that much all too well, unfortunately. Waking up in the hospital. Not knowing where the hell he was, or why. Then realizing he couldn’t even remember who he was, or that the woman, this woman, sitting vigil at his bedside was his wife of ten years. The doctors had said he had traumatic amnesia, a result of an accident on the construction site where he had worked the past two months. Even though he could remember basic knowledge, like how to walk and talk, he couldn’t remember the specifics about who he was. His driver’s license had said he was Luke Johnston, 35, of Atlanta, Georgia, and since the.
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