It was working. They dangled some just slightly away from the table. Toddling about just a little. Edging the edge of things. Widdling away at the woo... through the cotton of her shirt and the fabric of the tablecloth. Her taught nipples were anchored in tight at two decidedly certain points of order, fishing all the rest around like a concerto of Olympian synchronized swimmers - or dancing like the devil with a pitchfork firmly held in one hand: are you a motherfucker?I couldn’t hide it in my. That night, I had the extremely difficult job of explaining to 14-year-old Jenna how and why her mother abandoned us for her boss."THAT WHORE!" Jenna exclaimed. "Jenna!" I yelled. "That's no way to speak about your mother!" "Well", she said, "Isn't that exactly what she is?" "Regardless of what she is or isn't, she's still your mother", I explained. "Fuck her", Jenna said, "We don't need her around, anyway. I'll take care of you, you'll see."We got along great for a few months, until I noticed. More

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