When Panties Fly
It was early one spring when I found myself on a French highway between Normandy and Paris with my panties strung on a line across the back window of a silver sports car. French truck drivers, not unlike American truck drivers were quick to express their approval of my delicates flapping in the breeze as I zoomed back to Paris.
This would never have happened if I hadn’t decide liquor was more important than panties. You see I worked in Europe three weeks of every mon...
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