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She appeared even more beautiful than when she'd graced his bed that morning, Iowanian thought.
He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to kiss away the distress he'd caused her, to never allow anything or anyone to hurt her again. He would make amends to her, he vowed it. He would devote his life to making it up to her. "I will never harpoon you in the baows with a rusty, shit covered potato fork again, my dear," he said. FAX |
Jesus Endelt. You don't know what Kotter's been dipping into that peanut butter, but I'd bet you could probably guess why...
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Haha! Lame!
I beat you to the dick in the foodstuffs joke by a full minute. |
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Almost involuntarily she tightened her arms around him and arched her back. To her surprise, he moved over her, still kissing her neck, her ear, her cheek. As he settled over her, it seemed natural for her to part her legs.
As he pressed against her, her ache grew stronger, more exquisite. She arched her back again and pulled up her shift so that there were fewer layers of cloth separating them. He pressed against her and released, pressed and released, in a rhythm that built something glorious inside her, something that seemed almost within her reach. "Taco," she breathed. "Is that a pencil or a pen?" FAX |
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Not if you're Kotter's dog! :) |
Or a woman.
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You must be confusing me with the "star" you met in Larimer Square this weekend--the fluffer who caught you with the "I'm in Brokeback Mountain" line. :p |
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