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Preview — Addicted by Zane
The first time I ever laid eyes on Jason, I thought he was a junior-mack-daddy-wannabe that probably sat around on a Commodore 64 computer drinking grape Kool-Aid out of a peanut butter jar while watching Good Times.
I can't wait to hear your final review. I remember reading this when it first came out. It was a book club read. I think we read darn near everything she wrote. Let's just say every one else loved her…
OMG, it's so bad. I'm struggling to finish this. If it wasn't for the podcast, I would have abandoned it long ago. Don't worry. I'm gonna have a LOT to day.
Before the hand on the spinner landed on the next color, his dick was hard, and the gigantic, elephantine sanitary napkin my mother made me wear was twice as soaked as before the game. It wasn’t soaked with blood, however, but with my pussy juice.
I decided to leave well enough alone. I sat there pretending to be enthralled in my side dish selection of succotash, but I was really trying to think of another subject.
She was just complaining about how shitty their school meals were, but damn. They're getting succotash. Maybe I'm country, but that sounds delicious.
Everyone knew “Boo” was more than just a word Casper the Friendly Ghost whispered to unsuspecting children. Maybe not before the eighties, but Boo was a certified synonym for “Baby,” “Sweetie,” and “Snookums” by the time the word left Jason’s sexy-ass lips. I was a Boo. Aww, dayum!
The grin on her face quickly faded and was replaced by a look of astonishment. She was flustered. It took her a moment to gather her bearings while I struggled to hold back tears. We never broke our stare. “Yes, I would definitely say that makes you a sexual addict!”
Is this Dr. Marcella's first ever day as a shrink? None of this should surprise her nor should she acknowledge this as sexual addiction. I'M NOT EVEN A THERAPIST AND I'M BORED AS HELL BY ZOE.
“Oh, my goodness, Quinton! You did this when you were eleven years old?” “I started it when I was eleven,” he replied.
And then when he was 17, Barack Obama named him his personal muralist and awarded him the Nobel Peace Prize in Murals. After that, he was elected president of Earth and he married 100 supermodels.
“Then look me in the eyes, Zoe, and tell me you don’t want me.” He and I gazed at each other, and I wanted to tell him I didn’t want him, but the words wouldn’t come. “Enough said. We already crossed the line the other night, Zoe. There’s no turning back now. We need to finish the feelings.”
Of course, there were times when they would get angry at me and throw it up in my face. Telling me I should be thankful they even took me in when they could’ve just left me there.