Manhattan Man Hunt Pt 6 ~ A romance sex story from sex story sites.

Now maybe this all doesn't mean squiddly dee to you, Anita. Maybe he doesn't do anything at all for you but somehow I doubt it. Anyway, I have problems with him. The truth is that Mom and Pop are straight out Bible belters and they're finding it hard to cope with the idea of my getting a divorce at all. If I came back from separating from Al the loser La Rocca with a toy boy like Tristan in tow I'd probably get excommunicated or something. Not to mention likely putting Pop straight back into hospital with another heart attack.

On the other hand if I let Erik the Viking out on the street again with those damned dog walking cards he'll surely be walking some other bitch's bitch before Mom's finished cooking my welcome home barbecue. And even if none of that happens the government is going to take away my daily ration of scotch on the rocks by kicking him out when his non-visa waiver period expires in two months.

So, rather than lose him altogether, I figured that the best thing I could do was to find him a good home while I'm gone - and you're it. Pay him whatever it takes to keep him around and occupied and put it on my bill. And I want you to do whatever you can legalwise to let him stay in the country - and that's on my bill as well. Take it as high up the tree as you need to. As for whatever happens between you and him, I guess that's none of my business. But I'm getting sick to death of hearing about your dressage riding and your Portuguese bull fighting techniques. In my opinion, counsellor, it's high time that you got down off your high horse and did some hand to hand bull fighting for a change. If you think I may have something, then go and check Beech's basket and see what's taped underneath the cushion inside it - then open the attached text file and follow the instructions inside it.

And don't I just wish I could see your face right now,

Toni.

PS. Don't forget to e-mail me if anything interesting happens!"

"Toni!"

Anita stared at the screen, re-reading the message over and over as she tried to sort out her emotions. The most difficult to come to terms with was feeling ashamed that Toni had read her reaction to Tristan so perfectly. God, was she really such an open book? And what was she going to do now? Apart from taking a casual look inside that basket of course, just to see what kind of craziness Tony had thought up.

It wasn't such an easy thing to do though. Beech was tired out by a long journey on short legs from the Park Avenue metro and snoring in his basket, dreaming of chasing rabbits. Not that he'd ever actually seen a rabbit but he was an animal of vivid imagination and generally managed to visualise some satisfactory substitutes. Trying to prise him out of his rest and out of his basket wasn't easy.

"Come on, you fat slob, get your butt out of there, willya?"

Beech opened an eye in a face which had gone from its usually melancholy to an expression of infinite sadness in coming to terms with a world run by humans who hadn't enough decency to let sleeping dogs lie. He finally stepped out from his basket with the grief stricken grandeur of Louis the Sixteenth descending from a tumbril into a crowd of unwashed sans-culottes.

"It's OK, you can go straight back to bed in a minute."

Beech ignored the crass comment with all the disdain it deserved and went to crunch a biscuit with a strictly non-wagging tail and miserable mien. His whole attitude was that of a dog which had broken off diplomatic relations with humankind for an indefinite period. Directed at a softer heart it would have been a good guilt-inducing tactic - against a lawyer's conscience it was a waste of time.