” ‘What? Damien who?’ Kate was wearing her please-don’t-be-a-complete-idiot-in-public face, which I was admittedly fairly familiar with. ‘Yo... know, classic 70s horror schlock, devil child, nuns hanging themselves.’ This comment earned me a disparaging sniff from a thin, gray-haired woman who appeared to be prying meaning from a concentric set of orange octagons that had been created with electrician’s tape and then torn up using a parallel set of long, razor-sharp implements—or perhaps claws, I. I can't even remember when I first had the thought but I had trouble thinking of anything else. Most days amounted to me fisting my dick until I shot huge loads everywhere. I had some opportunities but didn't feel comfortable for what ever reason I never followed through. I had been to the bath house and watched other guys get fucked and really wanted it but I was having to much fun giving head. It went on this way for a period of years. Always wishing. Then one day I was walking around the. More

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