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When the scene passed she almost absentmindedly let her left hand make featherlike motions on my inner thigh causing me to shift and move my hips to allow my almost eight-inch cock some room to throb. Angela returned and positioned herself on my other side and tucked herself up against my back and shoulders. She took her hands and started to massage my shoulders, which felt really nice. Her pert breasts were pushed into my shoulder blades. We were all watching the show and Angela said, “Here comes our favorite part, right Lisa?” Lisa nodded her head in agreement. On the screen the character Sam had both girls in the bedroom and he started to undo Kelly’s (the rich blond girl’s) top and to slowly remove her panties from under the pleated skirt. A light came on in my head and I now understood why the two girls were dressed the way they were. Angela in her light grey pleated skirt and white top looked strikingly like Kelly van Ryan, the rich girl. Lisa in her black Jaguar print lycra. He stood up and murmured into the microphone clipped to the shoulder of his uniform. It didn’t matter that it was too soft for me to make out the words. It was probably in police-speak anyway. I’d known Andy since we were kids. A year younger than me, he’d made the ritual passes at me during high school, and had taken my polite no with good grace. In a town of four thousand, I ran into him frequently, but never during something like this. He had his cop face on, all professional and dispassionate. ‘This is a part of the job I could live without,’ he said. He nodded at me. ‘Candy.’ He raised an eyebrow at Ty. ‘You look familiar but I can’t place the face.’ ‘Tyrone Walker.’ Ty offered his hand. A look of recognition dawned in Andy’s eyes. ‘Angel Point’s own James Dean. Welcome home, prodigal son.’ Andy shook Ty’s hand. Then he gestured to John, or rather Steven Armstrong. ‘Dispatch said a man called this in. Was that you?’ Ty nodded. ‘Dispatch is plenty peeved with you for hanging up.
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