A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth as I decided it wouldn’t hurt to try. I slipped my thumbs into the sides of my lace thong and snapped it a...ainst my hips, biting my lower lip. Pulling the shirt on over my head, I chuckled quietly to myself. It wasn’t as huge as I’d imagined, it fell about mid-thigh, and though it wouldn’t have been clingy were I completely dry, parts of it stuck to me. Even better, it was white. Was he as horny as I was? Why would he give me a white shirt? The thought. The murder weapon was as described in this story. The case was never solved.Danny Flavian was going to die, and it was all his own fault. Not that he actually accepted this fact, but just because someone doesn’t accept something doesn’t mean that it isn’t so.Danny Flavian was 36. He was from a very wealthy family, he had attended private schools and had attended one of the country’s top Ivy League universities. His entry had been eased, in part, by financial donations from his father.Many. More

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