Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective...They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair...Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become.
Why do you think there aren__ rules to how sex will work? You didn__ want to talk to me about what you wanted. You pushed me into the room so I wouldn__ turn on the light because you knew damn well I would push back on that, didn__ you?__he stayed where she was. __es. I don__ want you to see me. I don__ look like one of those girls in a magazine.__e groaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. __hose girls in the magazines are airbrushed and way too thin. The camera adds pounds so those girls are so skinny I wouldn__ be able to fuck them for fear I would break them. I want a woman, Avery, not some tiny freaking thing whose waistline only proves she doesn__ eat. I want a woman who can take me. I want a woman I can hold on to. So bend over because I want to see your ass. I want to look at it because I__e been dreaming about it for days. It__ hot and round and so fucking juicy I can__ stand it. Get me hot, Avery. Show me your ass.
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Why do you think there aren__ rules to how sex will work? You didn__ want to talk to me about what you wanted. You pushed me into the room so I wouldn__ turn on the light because you knew damn well I would push back on that, didn__ you?__he stayed where she was. __es. I don__ want you to see me. I don__ look like one of those girls in a magazine.__e groaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. __hose girls in the magazines are airbrushed and way too thin. The camera adds pounds so those girls are so skinny I wouldn__ be able to fuck them for fear I would break them. I want a woman, Avery, not some tiny freaking thing whose waistline only proves she doesn__ eat. I want a woman who can take me. I want a woman I can hold on to. So bend over because I want to see your ass. I want to look at it because I__e been dreaming about it for days. It__ hot and round and so fucking juicy I can__ stand it. Get me hot, Avery. Show me your ass.
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The revolutionary woman knows the world she seeks to overthrow is precisely one in which love between equal human beings is well nigh impossible. We are still part of the ironical working-out of this, our own cruel contradiction. One of the most compelling facts which can unite women and make us act is the overwhelming indignity or bitter hurt of being regarded as simply __he other_, __n object_, __ommodity_, __hing_. We act directly from a consciousness of the impossibility of loving or being loved without distortion. But we must still demand now the preconditions of what is impossible at the moment. It is a most disturbing dialectic, our praxis of pain.
There are twenty-five thousand, six hundred and twelve things you don't know about me. I'll tell you one each day.""That means it will take you seventy-plus years to know everything about me. When I turn one hundred, that will be the last one. Though I expect by then you'll know the very first and very last thing you need to know about me, the only one that matters." ~ Jon Forte
My head drops back and I have a fleeting out-of-body moment where I see myself in the window, my hands tied above my head with my legs wrapped around the neck of Chris Merit, while he does delicious things to my body.
I want to discover every hidden secret of your body and a thousand ways to make you scream my name.
Baby, I held back today to let you get over all you've been through. But don't let that mislead you. You wouldn't be here if I planned on protecting you from me.