Funny Babe Porn Videos
Alexia takes a chance with Blake.
The other tiny paw clutches three saltine crackers. Up to an old fashioned pillared porch down the block where there dwells a flapping, squawking creature of red and gold and green and blue. Jeff's little butt bounces up and down in rapid rhythm on his dad's shoulders in expectation. It feels like a ritual many times performed as he holds out the morsel. The large elegant bird caws clearly, "Polly want a cracker," snatching the treat from his bravely outstretched hand. Rolling with pleasure and laughter, the boy nearly falls from his perch, but his dad's strong hands on his ankles hold him tight. "Polly want a cracker", the multi-colored parrot repeats, having made short work of the first treat.
The little boy waits. This is the troubling part. Years later Jeff was to wonder why they never brought two, or four crackers for the parrot. The dilema: should he offer the bird a second cracker, saving only one for the return, or save both for the return trip?
Dad never makes the decision, but sometimes Jeff can sense that he may be impatient for a decision.
The bird looks on with obvious greed. "Why doesn't the stupid bird ask again, help with the decision?" This night Jeff decides to give the second reward immediately.
On their return, the gorgeous parrot is waiting, and begins his refrain while they are still out at the street. This is Jeff's favorite part, for the bird seems to recognize him. They move up the walk. "Okay," dad says, laughing and Jeff extends his arm. The bird snatches and crumbles his snack. A few minutes later, Jeff is off to bed, well satisfied with the miracle of life.
*** *** ***
"Would you like a drink sir? Sir?"
"A drink sir? Would you care for a beverage?"
He is greatly tempted, the dread need surging up, but he knows she could never pour enough; that neither pints, nor quarts, nor gallons can hope to fill the dark black hole of his desire, his want of that never-ending thirst which is, perhaps, a gift from his dad's genes.
"Coffee, please," he replies, hoping beyond all hope to either wake or sleep.
She passes on as if she herself were the dream. He dozes.
His brother and he lie on the floor in their communal bedroom, ears pressed to the old fashioned, non functioning heat grate which opens directly to the living room below, If they slide aside aside one board. A flood of abuse and pleas arise from below, sounds of blows struck. "Bitch! Cunt! Whore!
"Bob, stop the kids'll hear!"
Neither of the boys dares to look at the other but Ernie's small hand clutches his tightly. The tiny sharp pain is a connection between them, expressing their shared wordless agony. The battle rages below for about thirty minutes before burning itself out. No word, no glance passes between Ernie and him but the younger boy curls his small body against Jeff, rather than retiring to his own bed across the room. "Suh. Suh. Suh" A long series of small tremors rustles through Ernie's Roy Rogers Pajamas as he lapses into sleep. Before long, the gentle rhythm drags Jeff down also, fists clenched angrily in front of his small frame.
*** *** ***
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts secure all belongings and return your trays to the upright position in preparation for landing at Milwaukee's Mitchell Field. The temperature on the ground is forty-seven degrees and a light rain is falling. Thank you for flying with us today."
Milwaukee is not exactly L.A. or even Portland. Getting to his rental necessitates a run through near freezing drizzle.
The drive to Midfield, though not long, is arduous, bumper to bumper and stop and go. Nonetheless it is soothing in its way, mind numbing in the extreme.
Since his mind, is not required for driving, it is free to roam, drift, remember.
His dad had worked most of his life as a clerk in an upper North Shore grocery which catered to the very rich.