I liked to describe myself as someone the painter Reuben would have loved to use as a model. My ex was two inches shorter than me without heels. Damn,...I hadn’t worn heels in the three years we’d been married, and I loved them. I was more successful, more connected, more social, the litany went on. As he put it at the divorce, I was just more. More than he could compete with, more than he could handle, more than he could ever be. The sad part was I didn’t care. It didn’t matter, he couldn’t stay. I raised my legs into the air and ran my hands up and down my stocking covered calves to get him going. A couple of more beeps and I raised my hips up enough so that he had a good look at my thighs too. That really got him going and Sam said, “Back your ass up to the window and give him a show.” I was starting to get into this and Sam’s idea was getting me harder by the second. I kneeled on the seat with my ass facing the window. I kept my knees together and pulled my cock and balls forward as. More

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