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A boy walks towards us with a plastic bag—
He’s taller than me, with black hair and the bluest eyes—like the color of my favorite doll’s hair.
He just stares at me, lifting his hand to the back of his neck then messing up his curly black hair.
“He’s saying he’s sorry, sweetie,” Mommy whispers to me.
“He communicates with sign...
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Mine.
Over the last year, Malachi has changed from a boy to a young man. For seventeen, he looks twenty with a chiseled jaw, long lashes, and bright, diamond-like blue eyes. He has muscles that are starting to become noticeable through his clothes, and he loves to run. He once signed to me that it helps clear his head.
Don’t grind your ass on my cock and I won’t accept the invitation.