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Ashley grew up in New England and loved the Patriots, who were big underdogs. As I recall, they had never won the Super Bowl and the Rams were the heavy favorites. Although not a Rams fan, I thought it was a sucker bet even giving her 7 points when Ash agreed to it. Of course to my chagrin the Rams lost. Ashley was ecstatic. I tried my best to get out of it but she was adamant. Not only were we going I would have to put a good face on it and not complain or be any trouble or problem on the trip. So I swallowed my pride went to the Mall of America and made the best of it (by the way, it was excruciating!). Since then we have had bets with stakes on a few things, usually bigger items we can’t agree on. The worst was a bet over a local election that resulted in me having to replace her car. Now she was going to need a replacement eventually, but by my reckoning it was at least two years early. I won a few along the way as well (I have a nice Seiko watch to prove. I bet Natasha's got a hot pussykitty who needs to be petted.” I shoved my free hand between Natasha's thighs. Janet joined me. Together, we petted Natasha's kitty. And boy did she purr around Mr. Peterson's cock as we rubbed her shaved flesh, stroking her hot pussy lips. We made her shudder and shiver. Her large breasts jiggled, brushing mine. I turned, rubbing my nipple into her tit as I stroked Mr. Peterson's cock.This was so much fun. Helping people was the bestest thing in the world.Our fingers rubbed and brushed together as we petted Natasha's juicy pussykitty. She sucked and purred, bobbing her head on Mr. Peterson's cock, doing her bestest to relieve his blue balls. He kept groaning, his back arching, feeling so good.The door opened. Mr. Peterson cursed.“You shouldn't say such naughty words,” I gasped at him.“Alice,” my husband groaned behind me.Bubbly, wonderful, marshmallowy goodness burst through me. I hopped to my feet, turning to see my handsome husband Frank. He stood in.
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I read somewhere that new guitars would have no "memory" and no "soul". They would be like a new-born. I would love to someday play something that has been loved and treated right." Wouldn't you want your own new guitar to pour your own, what did you say?" Mike scanned his notes with his finger, "to pour your own memories and soul into?" I don't think I'd want anything that I could pour my memories into." Why did you give up playing the guitar?" the doctor asked."It stopped being important," Ray responded."You told me you hurt your hand," Dana interjected."Well which one is it Ray? Aren't you tired of dancing yet?" Mike said with a smirk. "You are hopping around trying to say everything and nothing. I'm not a mind reader. And do you magically expect Dana to be one?" It was an injury. I broke a finger." How?" Mike pressed."It's a long story." It's a good thing that we almost have forty five minutes left." It was an argument with my father. He would get angry. I was older then. He.

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