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She's
kinky,
and she's
given up dating.
She's fallen in love and
given up
dating and
her whips
as youthful
foolishness.
Her chaps are gathering dust in the closet
and her corset sits like an empty saddle.
No more dress up.
No make-believe.
All the black leather
she needs
is the E-Z boy recliner
where her love is parked
with one of his hands wrapped around a remote,
the other, a bottle of beer.
She's right. It's kinky,
the way he doesn't look away
from the TV,
as her head bobs
in his lap
like a fisherman's float
on a nature program,
hectic
with the pace
his breath sets.
His crotch swells
under her mouth's
prowess. He's such
a sweetheart
he waits
until the
commercials
to come.
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©2000
Daphne Gottlieb and Nerve.com
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