Our daughters sat in the middle of our booth, with the guys at the ends. Finally, I rolled off my daughter and nearly passed out. “Oh, we’re fine. She soon got into the rhythm and wrapped her smooth legs around my back, trying to catch her breath between soul-shaking moans of joy, thrusting every bit of her young body back at me, with enough force to nearly lift me off. In that too brief moment, it was all I could do to keep myself from raping her and coming instantly inside her, as my brain nearly melted. Melissa had the long black hair and dark complexion consistent with her Mediterranean ancestry. The champagne continued flowing, and the girls were encouraging their fathers to make one toast after another: to Italy, to the Supreme Court, to Babe Ruth, to virtually every topic or joke that we had mentioned. We gotta eat, right?”
“We were also wondering, Daddy.”
“Yes,” said Carbone, mildly stern. The rest of our sojourn in the restaurant was a blur. Fuck her.
