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nihilism, excellent, harassment, uncensored, blowjob, woomera detention centre, wbar, poetry, blowjobs, pantiehose, law, atheism, workers' compensation, 1990, erotica, plays, jersey city, jewish blog, rape stories, lohan, | "No, I'm done for the night, I just have my sidework." I sit down and extend my legs. With publishing my right hand I roll my nylons off, revealing the sun-desperate legs underneath. I've shaved my legs this morning. I'd been waiting for Carter to complain about the hair, but he hadn't, and before long I couldn't take it anymore. I lathered up, slid the razor up and down each leg and delicately around my pussy. I love feeling smooth. I'm constantly amazed by my body, by how smooth my skin is. publishing The night manager has gone home, and I'm free to be bare-legged, and I like the way the night cold feels against my naked limbs. "Are you smoking?" "What? Why? I haven't smoked since high school. Are you smoking?" "You've had a lot of stress lately," my mother says. |
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wake up five hours later tingling and wet. He makes me feel all kinds of new things, like the desire to be faithful. I work at lohan Goldie's Steakhouse, an lohan easy job that got me through college. I cling to this job like some girls cling to families, boyfriends: the one part of lohan my life that stays the same. I'm waiting for a journalism job to fall into my lap. I step out to the back dock of Goldie's, carrying a mug of merlot and my cell phone. My mother's on the phone, delivering a diatribe on menopause, interrupting herself periodically to exclaim "Oh! Hot Flash!" like a DJ announcing a new dance. "Where are you?" She asks suddenly. "Umm -- at work?" "At work? Jesus -- you have tables, honey? Don't talk to me if you have tables." |
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