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| joseph bono, text, blaze, gotham comedy club, 1999, eminem, associate programs, chileanspanish, how i met your mother television show, james v. christy, inside my head, regional internet registry, church, s, original reporting, santo domingo, 8 mile, david steinberg, magazine, russell, british columbia, afiliate, cook and moore, | The evening sky is stained with standard mandarin gray cloud, and he has a firm grip on your head. You touch a scar running down the side of his left thigh. He tells you, hurriedly, that he was knifed by a burglar in his divided Jerusalem. He will never go back, he says. standard mandarin You had run the garbage disposal while he complained about his wife’s medical bills still dropping in the mail. The man has retained a lawyer who is going to screw Kaiser Permanente. And you think standard mandarin about big corporations and white men in blue shirts carrying on only what dead white men in blue shirts have done before them. Now you are being mouth-fucked by this man, who is somebody’s grandfather, who calls you cinnamon-skin. At this moment his white cock in your brown mouth seems like some textbook chapter on racial and generational integration. |
Best Mature Paysites
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| The man will say something about the moon and his lawn and how he wants to fuck you under the stars, and enveloped by the affectionate smells of antibiotic soap and talcum powder you follow him. You are running a hand up his cotton robe, and its hieroglyphic pattern reminds you of the checked lungi joseph bono a neighbor wore, the broad-shouldered middle-aged bank clerk who read joseph bono the newspaper sitting joseph bono on his front steps as you walked to school in your native India. The man spreads his legs. You look. You lean in. The neighbor is shaking out a newspaper. You let the image in your mind and the body in front of you merge. You are playing God, mixing a remembered face and an available body. You are surprised how easily your mind trips when you allow it to. Tripping is illogical, against your grain of habit. You kneel down on the fresh cut grass and the cool cotton, and the man’s hot penis is in your mouth. The man’s dog is slurping water from an aluminum bowl and the cars pass on the distant overpass, and without turning to look, you know that in the fading light the mass of headlights appears like a candlelit procession. |
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