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Nodding and saying this all the while you stood right beside her, mute. You look so nice today translating, in a coarser vocabulary, as: Damn you look hot, baby! So, yes, given this relatively wholesome fantasy, the will of God, that sort of thing, it came as quite a shock to you when the bedroom bug revealed her (presumably) first paramour to be..miscreant redneck brother Roger. And what was all that talk about eleven, twelve years ago? " "Calm down, John," hand waving him back into his chair. "He knows I'm off the pill, he says he refuses to wear condoms and...besides, he says it's the safest way." "What is he a fucking gynecologist now? He made Maris mad by saying, first thing out of his mouth in response: "I don't want that asshole living with us." Maris's blue eyes went wide.
Tilting it, tapping it nervously like a chess piece. "I've just told me [sic] your [sic] brother is going to be servicing me three times a week...four, six..knows?
" "He's 31, John." "And he wants an allowance." "Not much. He's been, like, scared straight for six years now. A woman has a right to have her biological needs fulfilled." "The Pope himself? It's been over a year now." "Not quite." "What's that supposed to mean? " "It's not mooching if he does his share in return for us doing ours." "As in money." "He's offering to..is difficult, John..." Maris brought hands to either side of her head and combed back her lush, honey-blonde hair.
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