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“I like dappled hats,” she said as she lit the incendiary device.
He enjoyed her wet diphthongs on her nape, his frequency modulator, his frenulum.
“You must warn me,” she said as she manipulated the milibars.
He was engulfed by the heat of her cardamom mouth, her amplitude, her guttural declensions.
Nick Carbo
| Submitted Date |
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Thursday, January 01, 2004 |
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