He sipped his drink again, felt the soothing oblivion it brought slipping over him, closed his eyes. When he opened them Julie was standing in front of him, with a bottle of brandy in her hand.

Wordlessly, he handed the glass to her. He shook his head. Dear God, he was a minister and he was just as filled with sinful thoughts as the men he was trying to expose. Here he had the greatest little wife in the world, and he was sitting around fantasizing about screwing a baby no older than his own daughter. It was perverted, sinful!

Julie poured herself a drink and slid down onto the couch next to him. She was wearing a pale blue tailored dress that set off the sheen of her shoulder length straight hair, making it glisten like spun gold. Although of modest design, it clung to her like a glove, pulling so tight across the firm mounds of her breasts that he could see the taut, hard nipples outlined beneath it. With one hand she held her drink up to his, clicked glasses with him and said, "Here's cheers." Her other hand was busy smoothing her skirt down over her knees, a perpetual habit of hers. "Must have been some dream, Brad," she said cheerfully, "the way you were grunting and groaning in your sleep…"

"Last time I crash at eight," he repeated without elaborating on the dream.

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," Janice called from the kitchen as she banged in the back door. "Do we have anything to make a sandwich out of, I'm starving."

"There's some leftover meat loaf," Julie said.

"For heaven's sake, Janice, do you have to go around half-naked?" her father fumed when she flounced into the room wearing a pair of white shorts that barely covered the twin half-moons of her buttocks.