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I can’t see my wienie, my little pecker, my loving love rod, unless I lean forward.
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I don’t tell her that Mother died of poisoning and Father died by jumping in front of a bus.
I yawn but Sara appears not to notice. She tells me about a time when she visited Alaska with her parents, but I’m having trouble following her story. The music, even though it’s low, seems to weave in and out of her words. I watch Sara’s lips moving, trying to read the words as well as hear them. I yawn again. I’m
All of this, apparently, is at the request of different people from different places. Her patrons, I suppose.
And that one lady just happens to be my perfect match. My 100% match.