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The dinner is cooked by girls who are doing Cordon Bleu courses, or are chalet girls during the winter. The dishes are served by the girls dressed as maids. As dinner continues, I am afrid to say there are usually hands wndering up the maids skirts. But who can blame a red blooded man when confronted by a fine pair of legs encased in stockings and disappearing up into a smart black skirt?Following dinner, the girls retire to their rooms, where they are normally housed in two bed rooms. The gentlemen have a chat, then congregate in one of the 'playrooms' which are laid out for the weekend. I normally attend the room nicknamed The Classroom. This is laid out as a 1950s period classroom, complete with school desks, a larger desk for the schoolteacher, a blackboard etc. Given pride of place in the centre is a leather covered bench. Well worn high quality leather looks innocent, but it is clear what the function of the bench is.For the young ladies in the club are subject to. She tasted the salty blood in her mouth as she tried to catch her breath. She felt May’s knee on her back ripping off her expensive blouse.“You’re a cop, huh?” May asked menacingly. Still unable to get any air into her lungs, she could only shake her head “No”. “Like shit, you probably are the heat tracking me down.”“No,” Nicole could barely say it.“No fucking pussy as good looking as you would give me the time of day unless it was to their benefit,” she snatched a cigarette from an inner pocket of her leather jacket and lit it with a lighter that was in the same place. “What the fuck do you want me for?”“Nothing. I thought we were going to lick some pussy,” Nicole got her wind back. “Why are you doing this to me?”“Ever look at yourself in the mirror lately?” she sneered. “You look as good as a movie star, you bitch. You came on to me. Only ugly babes like me to do that, now I want the truth,” May reached on the floor to get Nicole’s purse.She rummaged through it finding nothing but.
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She told me that the Native American’s had considered the hill on which our house stood as a spiritual center so there were all kinds of artifacts lying around.An historical artifact is a hell of a thing. You hold it in your hand and you think about the last person to hold it and to use it. Whoever did stood on this hill, back when there were no homes, no streets, no snowplows. What did they think about? Was there some girl like me that had an arch-nemeses bitch that looked down on her or was getting eaten by a wolf the worst of her problems? She had drawings on her desk that I pointed to and asked about. The drawings were of a hexagon with strange sharp shapes in the center that seemed to make up a flying dragon. Its mouth was open and depending on how you looked at it, it could seem like it was breathing fire. It was a beautiful symbol, simple but powerful. Mom said that it was something they found here when building a parking lot at the bottom of the hill. I said.

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