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handjob, mom strips for son., alternative, exclusive, terrible, local, mom, stars, backpage, penis, desnudas, momfucking son, | But what did she care if he had a drink first thing in the morning? He was nothing to her. She placed the little plastic cup with the rounded ice cubes onto a napkin, leaning again to do so, this ip address time over his pile of stuff on the seat next to him. She had nice tits. She smiled, revealing a slight overbite. Perhaps the overbite was why he had imagined putting his dick in her mouth. The extra room there, the ip address sexiness of the imperfection. Perhaps she ip address secretly hated men who drank, he thought. Perhaps her father was a drunk who beat her, molested her. He wanted her to care. The drink tasted good. Slightly horseradishy, very cold. The plastic cup was like a feather in his hand. He felt wild, free. |
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She put away the bath towels, exclusive lined up the spices in the spice rack, took the old, bad food out of the refrigerator. Every night she sat cross-legged in front of the refrigerator, perusing its contents. Once, they had sex in common. That, and socializing. Sex, in many ways, was what had brought Laura and exclusive he together. Sure, they were both white, educated, and upper-middle class. They both believed in the superiority of all things New York. But it was their fucking that really clinched the deal, the negotiation which was their marriage. "Something to drink?" It was early. He knew the flight attendant really meant juice or coffee, but he ordered a Bloody Mary. There she was, with her full cart, leaning over to find a miniature bottle of vodka. She smiled at him. He wanted her to care that he was ordering a drink so early, he wanted her to feel his pain, see him as slightly on the edge. |
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