I scooted upstairs and went to my bedroom. It didn’t change at all. Probably no one tried to enter it for the past five years because nothing change... at all, not even the bed sheet. But I can see that there’s not a dust on the floor and at the table top of my study table. Probably mom’s cleaning my room, I thought. I felt completely sad when I recalled what happened when I ran away from home, got a part-time job and started making money all by myself which led me to D.C. I closed the door as. He didn't have the six pack, but it was obviously flat, and muscled. He had a slightly smaller scar on the front, apparently the bullet passed completely through him. He wasn't a body builder, but he was in great shape, and she had a sudden and unexpected image of her legs wrapped around him, his arms holding her up, and his pecker in her. Her suspended on his dick as it were. She forced the image aside and then knelt focusing on his legs, she washed the left leg twice, building her courage to. More

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