Memories. That’s what I am going through today. On that anniversary of our last time. And instead of dwelling on the loss of love, I’ve been tryin... to remember where we fucked. Different places that all had meaning at the time. Sometimes the meaning was simply that we were both horny and we just fucked where we were. Sometimes the meaning was that we knew we would be together and the time was planned and special. Every time we fucked – all those times were special. To me, at least. I remember. Even the skeezy Hatian drug dealer (who never stops scanning West Fourth for fresh NYU meat) let out a reverent ‘God-daaamn!’ Now, I grew up in Pennsylvania, where they have plenty of sky, and I knew the different lunar phases, so I said to the drug dealer, ‘It’s a Hunter’s Moon’. He nodded, thoughtfully, as if I’d just explained to him, clearly, for the first time, the secrets of the universe, and all of life encompassed. I looked around at the whole freaky Village crew, with their crack and. It was dark when the carriage stopped in front of Magnolia House. Peter jumped lightly to the ground and offered his hand to Victoria. She blushed as she took his hand and allowed him to help her down. He walked her to the steps of the porch. They noticed that there weren't any lights on the ground floor, but there were a few bedrooms that still had a light burning. "You go on up to bed now, you've had a busy day." Victoria blushed and nodded her head.Peter went back to take the carriage to the. Annabelle plugged in the machine, and a soft humming filled the barn. Nicole gasped loudly when Annabelle pushed the first of the stainless steel tubes onto her left breast. She gasped more softly when Annabelle repeated that for the right breast.“That’s just enough suction to keep them in place,” Annabelle explained. “I set the timer so it should start the actual milking once I have churned your cream.”Nicole wanted to ask Annabelle what she was going to do, but instead, she groaned as.
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