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It wasn’t your twisted face. It wasn’t your sickeningly artificial childish mind set - “So I said to him I said, first of all, like ...whatever!” What I remember about you most was the disturbing image of removing you pants and seeing the inches of curly black pubic hair poking out in all av club directions from your hole-ridden panties. I’m guessing you didn’t have any visitors down there for a while and certainly weren’t expecting anyone that day. Maybe when av club you were 16, av club you kept yourself well groomed, thinking you might meet a nice man and have a relationship. But as the years went by and nobody called, you let yourself go. And here you were at 35 years old. Deformed and alone. Maybe you thought no man would ever see you naked again? You were almost right. I wasn’t a man. I was a sniveling, crying 3rd grade piece of shit. Just like Helen who got off the bus in the 60s and missed her connection back to the modern world - just like that - my mother threw me out of the car when I was 10 and left me there on that dark road all alone with no chance of finding my way home.
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