Bastard, fucking contract. And what about the five hundred pound 'personal appearance fee'? Are you telling me I actually have to go and meet him? Thi...ty minutes? I've got to spend thirty minutes listening to his snivelling shit as he undresses me with his eyes? No, I can't send the money back. Because I've fucking spent it. Not that you noticed, I could be wearing a fucking bin bag for all you care. Don't 'honeybun' me. And no I don't want a snuggle. Look, can you just fuck off, apparently I'm. "Steve and Darlene had been our neighbors for several years; they were about ten years older than we were. Both of them were well built, Steve worked out all the time and had the hard body to prove it; Darlene was just naturally slim and trim, with long flowing natural blond hair. Steve had a job that allowed him to work from the house and Darlene owned an insurance office and had to work six days a week but was home in the evenings and on Sundays. We had all of our insurance through her. More

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