A slight touch of hands and sweeping of the hair, then wave of gooseflesh rippled about my lengthly fair skin. Gripping hands seduce these hourglass figures and foggy breaths smite pretty necks. Lips trace my shoulders, my neck, the pulse of life beneath my jaw. Lusty glances insinuate we indulge in pleasures of the flesh, as brown eyes which most
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Comments 4
are you still going to come to santa cruz?
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Jean-Michel
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Jean
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You should read my rooftop post.
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