Much as I admired the daring of the hippest of the hipsters, and of the bohemian avant-garde, I had never—not once in my life—been mistaken for co...l. The dernier cri of fleeting countercultures passed me like car horns on a wet street below my window. I could hear them, and sometimes I might poke my head out to have a look, but I was never, ever on board. If I was going to be remembered as a painter, it would be as an Emily Dickinson of painters—living like a shadow, laboring quietly in some. I lay on my bed overwhelmed by what had happened. I could not stop thinking how good it felt when my sister grabbed hold of my cock. I reached down and wrapped my hand around my fat cock. It was still hard. I ran my fingers up and down my cock feeling it and tickling it. I closed my eyes and saw visions of Natalie's pussy. I felt a tingling sensation moving up trough my balls and into my cock. My fist was a blur as I jacked myself off, uncontrollably shooting one, then two, then three ropes of. More

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