She returned to West Hartford at the lowest point in her life, and she hoped her parents wouldn’t ask too many questions about the bruises and scrat...hes on her arms or her swollen face, or half of her left eye, blood-red from the beating she took. They were always right, and she was always wrong. She should have never succumbed to a poet’s life. More than anything she craved the normal life—as normal as the subdivisions of dense suburban sprawl, the stately colonial homes quaint, clean, and. She would bend over at the waist and let me see where that string in her panties actually went. She spread her knees so wide when she squatted down that her panties would usually allow me a full view of one of her big puffy pussy lips that managed to fall out of her panties.I always enjoyed watching her bend over into the hood of the car to check the fluids especially the break fluid, which was way in the back in the middle so that it was almost impossible for her to reach. I had to laugh when. More

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