Never Marry
Chapter 1: Hoppity

Copyright© 2018 by Uther Pendragon

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Hoppity - Craig thought that he and Alicia had a relationship that would cause many others to envy each of them. He had a girl who would have sex with him and never ask for commitment. She had a man who was thinking of making their relationship permanent. But he wanted her 'Until death do us part,' and she would never marry.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   First  

“Look both ways,” Alicia Ortega told her niece, Anne. “What does the light say?”

“Red means stop.” Actually, the cars had gone. Al would have crossed if by herself, but four was the wrong age to learn exceptions; Anne was still learning rules.

“Green means go,” Anne burst out, but she took her hand. When she got to the curb, Anne dropped her hand and went skipping ahead.

“Christopher Robin goes
“Hoppity, hoppity,” a guy a little ahead of them said,
“Hoppity, hoppity, hop.
“Whenever I tell him
“Politely to stop it, he
“Says he can’t possibly stop.

“If he stopped hopping,
“He couldn’t go anywhere,
“Poor little Christopher
“Couldn’t go anywhere
“That’s why he always goes
“Hoppity, hoppity,
“Hoppity,
“Hoppity,
“Hop.”

Actually, he was quite a cute guy. She’d been so intent on teaching traffic rules, she hadn’t even noticed. He was going to the library, too, and when Anne hit the button to open the door, he thanked her and waited for Al to go through first. There was a second set of doors with a second button, and he waited for Anne to operate that one, too. One of the many pleasures of dealing with Anne was that she felt gigantic. The guy returned her to her usual Lilliputian 5’ 1”.

“Good morning, Mr. Warren,” the librarian on the front desk greeted him, and he returned the greeting with the librarian’s name. Now, Al knew the last name of a cute guy, though apparently a bookworm. Maybe she should drop Anne’s books; he might help pick them up. She’d been in Chicago for nearly a month, and working at a preschool was not the best way to meet single men.

“Aunt Al!” Anne wanted to go on, and Al had stopped,

“Use your library voice, Anne,” Al said using hers. “First we have to return these books, and then we’ll look for some others.” Actually, she returned the books in the slot provided in the front desk. She didn’t push the remarkably generous limits the Chicago Library set for borrowing at one time. She got five books for Anne every two weeks. As far as the library was concerned, she had the next set out hours before the last set was checked in. On the other hand, they had spent ten minutes finding the books this morning. Only because she was certain that it was five were they not going to wrack up a fine.

She put the books through the slot, and Anne trotted over to their section. The guy she’d been mooning over disappeared up the stairs.

Once they got to the area set aside for preschoolers, Anne was diverted by the giant Legos. A kid was already playing with some, and his dad and Al agreed that they could share. The boy, Ralph, was not so certain, and Anne felt grabby herself. With two adults saying “share,” they decided that they both enjoyed piling them up and knocking them down. Deb had planned to go to the coin laundry, and Al had promised her that the expedition to the library would take at least an hour. She was quite happy that Anne was intrigued by something other than the books.

When Ralph, who’d already selected his books, went home, Anne found the blocks less interesting. They had started looking for more books when a guy said, “Ma’am, Miss Al?” It was the cute guy from the street.

“I’m Al.”

“I’m Craig. Thought you might be interested in the poem. Here.” He shoved a paper towards her, and she took it. “You can find anything on the Internet, though I wouldn’t try to print off Moby Dick at library rates.”

“I’ll...” She reached in her purse.

“That’s not Moby Dick. I can afford one page.” He turned away. She watched him cut around the tables to shelves on the other side of the room. He bent down and started to pull books off the shelf and look at them.

“Aunt Al!” Anne said again.

“I’m right here. Mommy doesn’t need to hear that.”

“You’re right there, but you’re not looking.” So Al paid attention. Anne found six books that she wanted, and Al explained that they were only going to take five. Which one did she want to read here?


Craig Warren had actually noticed the little girl first. She was definitely hopping, and she reminded him of the poem. He noticed that the mom was pretty, but the prettiness of moms was something that bachelors should pretend to ignore. Then, the girl called her, “Aunt Al.” Anyway, he’d already offered the two of them the poem. He let his books go for a minute to head up to the adult computers. Nobody was at the express computer, and he needed only a few minutes to find the poem and send it to the printers downstairs. He normally used his own computer for printing, since the library charged 15 cents per page, but he went through the line, deposited a buck in case he might need to use the printers again, and got his page printed off.

He handed the poem, properly credited to Milne, to the aunt. Suddenly, he felt like a stalker, and he fled to the ‘hold’ shelves.

The woman was pretty, a short girl with a trim figure and gorgeous red hair. He’d never see her again, probably, but she also looked competent. She was managing a young kid, and that took some managing.

He had exhausted the Edgewater branch’s holdings of detective fiction, minus the books that looked not worth reading, in the past two years. He ordered two novels from other branches each Saturday, but they came in bunches. This time, he got four.

“One in and four out,” he said to Liz at the desk. “It never rains but it pours.”

He had been far from a social star in college -- track had barely registered as a sport on coed radar -- but he had relationships most of the time.

And, when he lacked a relationship, the campus had presented him with a huge selection of opportunities for seeking one. There were dances to which you could go stag. He attended classes after which you could strike up a conversation. There were food halls in which you could ask a girl sitting alone at a table if the seat next to her was taken. It often was, but it was polite to ask.

He even had women friends -- and the dates of men friends -- who would introduce him to girls who were looking.

The job he’d taken in Chicago was at a company which, despite a policy already in place against office romances, had a sexual-harassment scandal that broke in his first month there. He’d not been involved, had not even been employed when the harassment occurred, but he’d been put through training. He should not even tell a woman that she was pretty.

He now knew fewer than a tenth of the number of women he’d known three years and two months ago, and these were mostly older than he was. He couldn’t discuss his social life with any.

Now, he’d just met -- well almost met -- a pretty girl -- “woman” he told himself; even in college, they liked to be called women -- and she thought him a stalker.


Al walked Anne home. Al walked and, except when crossing streets, Anne skipped. That made her think of the poem, and the poem made her think of the guy. She’d thought for a minute that he’d expected her to pay for the printing. She really shouldn’t have been required; it hadn’t been her idea. But he hadn’t wanted her to, and the offer had driven him away. Well, what did she expect? The guy had been a fan of Anne’s, and adults who reacted to cute kids had to be very careful. She worked in a preschool, and she knew the rules.

If he’d put his name and phone number on the sheet, she would not have called him. She knew his name, Craig Warren. He knew her as Al. She was not going to look in the phone directory for him, and there was no way he could find her.

“Darling!” Deb said when they got to her apartment. She gave Anne a big hug. “Thanks, Al.”

That expressed Deb’s situation perfectly. She loved her daughter, passionately and unconditionally; she was very grateful to have her out of her hair for an hour of daylight. Well, Al loved her niece, too, and was happy to have her company for an hour.

The other reason for taking Anne to the library was that Al didn’t think that she had sufficient exposure to books. If Anne had fresh books in the house every other week, she would ask her mom to read them to her. Asked, Deb usually did what Anne wanted, too often in the case of sweet juice and snack food. Then too, saying that Anne asked was euphemistic; when Anne wanted something, she demanded.

“And, in addition to the books that have to go back,” she told Deb, “a guy gave Anne a poem you can read to her and enjoy yourself.” She handed it to Deb, but she’d used a word that Deb thought more important than any writing.

“Guy! What sort of guy?”

“Interesting sort of guy. Maybe your age -- maybe mine. Name’s Craig, and it fit. Craggy face and tall build.”

“Well, if you’re not interested,” Deb said, “toss him my way. A guy who’d like Anne sounds a hell of a lot better than Pete.” Al thought that Attila the Hun would be a lot better than Pete, even rotting in his grave for millennia. How Pete could be uninterested in his daughter she couldn’t understand, but Anne was very lucky that he was. Deb got child support out of Pete’s earnings, but only when Pete was employed.

“Well, that’s damning with faint praise, and thinking she’s cute skipping down the street is different than 24-7. Besides, I can’t toss him your way. I gave you everything I have of his.”

“You’re too picky ... Okay, I wasn’t picky enough. Still, there is a middle ground. How are you going to get married if you keep holding out for mister perfect?”

Al despaired for Anne’s future if that was the advice she’d get in a decade. “First of all, I don’t want to get married. Wanting to get married leads to Pete and Mom’s guys. Second, I’m not holding out for mister perfect. I dated in school. Dating is great; it’s marriage which traps you.”

“Whatever happened to that Ken guy? I thought that was leading somewhere.”

“He thought so too. Maybe it was. But he tried to force me. We were making out, and I was stark. Had to knee him to get him to stop.”

“So, at 22, you’ve never? Have you taken a vow?”

“Taken a vow to stay on the Pill,” Al said. Anne was running around madly, but one never knew what a toddler could hear. She was willing to explain contraception and the advantages of getting the pleasures of sex without the consequences to Anne, but not -- please -- for another decade.

Deb went to take the clothes out of the dryer, and Al read to Anne. She started with the poem that Anne had been given.

“Craig gave this to you,” she said.

“Cray!”


That night, as every night, Craig browsed the Internet for arousing pictures. He took himself off in front of the toilet. This night, though, memories of the aunt in the library -- fully clothed -- interfered with the memories of the women on line. Since the effect was the same, he kept those images before him.

Well, he’d probably never see her again. On the other hand, she went to Edgewater Branch Library on Saturdays; so did he. That toddler hadn’t walked far. Well, she hadn’t skipped far. They might come back the next week. And he had the precise -- much more precise than he needed -- time he’d checked out the book on the slip he was using as a bookmark.

He’d heard the kid asking questions, and that reminded him of another poem.

Sunday morning after his run, he looked up and printed out Kipling’s poem about six honest serving men. He also noted the time he’d checked out his books and subtracted an approximation of the time he’d spent before hand. Then he took his current book to the beach to read.

The next Saturday, he returned three of his books to the library. He checked out the children’s section, and neither Anne nor Aunt Al was there. He went outside and walked up and down the street watching for them. Hell! She had thought he was a stalker, and now he was proving her right.

When he went in to find his books, none had come. He had one half read, and he browsed the fiction -- a different category than mystery -- shelves until he found one that looked interesting. He checked it out, looked again at the children’s section, and went slowly home walking the block from which the two had come before turning. The nice thing about the Chicago grid is that you can take another path without really going a detour -- it’s the same length.

Since he wasn’t going to ever see her again, anyway, he was feeding an illusion. To feed it further, he figured what date he would ask her to if he ever saw her again which he wouldn’t. He sure couldn’t invite her to the next dance on campus. Well, he’d noticed the store-front theaters in the neighborhood. He’d check out the times on one.


Al visited Deb again. Deb only did laundry every other week. She was a barkeep, Al was always careful to say “waitress,” on the late shift. She paid a neighbor with her own kids to have Anne sleep in her apartment while she worked. The coin laundry, however, was closed those hours. Anne found all her books, and they set off. The same guy, Craig, met them on their way.

“Good morning,” he said. “Did you like the Hoppity poem?”

“Hoppity, hoppity, hoppity,” said Anne. She jumped to illustrate what she meant. Well, being Anne, she jumped because the idea of jumping had occurred to her. Since she was safe on the sidewalk, Al was perfectly happy for her to get her exercise before going into the library.

“I have another poem for you,” he said. He whipped off his back pack and pulled out a folder. “You like to ask questions, don’t you?”

As she took the poem, Al’s danger antennae were quivering. Running off a poem right after quoting it, and quoting a poem when the kid was exemplifying it could be called normal. Well, how many people had kids’ poems by heart? But, for one who did, quoting it was probably normal. Looking up a poem when the kid was gone and printing it off when you had little chance of seeing her again was entering creepy territory. “Entering”? It was miles inside creepy, bordering on pedophile.

“Look,” the guy continued, “I don’t know whether you like the theaters in the neighborhood, but there’s a play with great reviews playing down on Bryn Mawr. Would you like to see it? See it with me, I mean.”

She breathed again. The guy was trying to pick her up. Anne was only a means to an end. Well, lots of guys tried to pick her up, and she could deal with it. Anne was not in danger.

And the guy looked interesting. He liked to read, and he liked kids, two pluses for him. Then, too, while lots of guys had asked her out on dates, none had in Chicago. Most of the guys you met working in a preschool were married.

“Sounds interesting,” she said.

“Can we say next Friday? I have details, but your niece is anxious to get her books. Let’s exchange cell numbers, and we can fix the details later.”

“Sure.” The guy walked her into the library, though, and thanked Anne prettily for opening the door. A few minutes after they were in the children’s section, he joined them and pointed out the books by Milne, the author of the first poem. He asked when was a good time to call, and she told him. He left them alone after that.

As he hadn’t specified the day, she had chosen a time when a call would be welcome any day of the week. Craig called that evening, though.

“This is Craig Warren,” he began. “We spoke outside the library.” Since she had accepted a date, this was way too specific. “Red Twist, that’s the name of the theater, won’t let us in after the curtain rises. They start rather late, and I thought we’d eat before and close to the theater. When is a reasonable time to pick you up? And where?”

She told him the address, and then the names on the buzzer, Bennet / Ortega. “I’m the Ortega, by the way.”

Sasha grilled her on the caller. “Nice guy?” was maybe her dozenth question.

“Hell! It’s a first date. Everybody’s a nice guy until they get you alone in the car.”

When Craig called from the street, she buzzed him up and met him at the apartment door. Sasha got a good look, and seemed to approve. Craig was wearing a suit and tie, and she feared that she was underdressed for the occasion. Neither the restaurant nor the play audience, however, made her feel out of place.

The play wasn’t bad. If it had been on TV, she would not have changed the channel. On the other hand, she would not have even made the trip, let alone shelled out what Craig had, to see it.

Much the greatest pleasure was sitting next to an impressive guy. Craig had his hand around her shoulder, and she could feel the masculinity radiating off his body. He never strayed into what she called bikini territory, though. He took her straight home afterwards, and when he parked he got out of the car to come open the door for her.

Their conversation had been mostly first date stuff. She was a new graduate in early-childhood education from Iowa State and working in the field. He was a little more than two years out of Michigan, working as a programmer. She had two sisters and a brother; Anne’s mother, Deborah, was the only one in Chicago. He had only one sister, a decade older and living outside Denver. She admitted to “Alicia.”

Since he said that his brother in law worked in Denver as explaining his sister’s locale, his sister must be still married. His parents definitely were. She did not mention that her brother and sisters came from three marriages and that her mother was on her fifth. Nor did she say that both sisters were divorced and her brother was working on his second reconciliation of his second marriage. She wasn’t ashamed of her family, quite; she just didn’t think the details were anybody’s business.

At her door, he turned her. She had planned to kiss him at the inside door, but the outside one was also locked.

He cupped his hands over her cheeks and tilted her face upward. His kiss was gentle, and then it was fierce. When he lifted his lips from hers, she was more aroused than she’d ever been by a kiss without making out. Then he licked her lips. She parted them, and the kiss resumed, even hotter.

She staggered and fumbled with the key when he let her go.

“Delicious Alicia,” he said.

She gave two short buzzes to warn Sasha and Zac. When she let herself into the apartment, Zac was fully dressed, and Sasha was wearing a housecoat over some of her clothes.

“I’ll need ten minutes,” she said. She left her purse in her room and took her makeup kit and contact case into the john. She relieved herself, removed her makeup, washed thoroughly, and took out her contacts. “All done.” she said as she went through the living room.

A long time later, Sasha knocked on her door.

“He’s gone,” Sasha said. “So how was your date?”

“Great! I didn’t know the cheeks could be an erogenous zone.”

“No?” Sasha patted her butt.

“Ha. See how hard I’m laughing?” Al pointed to her face. “These cheeks. It was a first date, after all. Anyway, it was a first date, and we only kissed in the doorway, and he only felt me here. I sure felt him, though.”

She did laundry even less often than Deb, but she did some the next morning. That night, Craig called. She’d assigned him a special ring tone.

“I wanted to thank you for going out with me,” he said. “I really enjoyed your company.”

“Well, I enjoyed yours, too.” She didn’t say anything about the kiss at the end, which was the part she’d enjoyed most.

“Would you consider doing it again? Different play, different theater, different restaurant, but the same people on the date.”

“That sounds marvelous.”

“What would you say to Vietnamese food?” he asked.

“Let’s be adventurous.”

“Didn’t see you at the library today.”

“I only go every other week,” she said. “Anne’s my sister’s kid, and I give her a break every other week.” Now, she was explaining too much.

“Isn’t it great how kids that age enjoy the world? Can you imagine finding such pleasure in pushing a button and having the door open? Well, I’ve said everything I planned to say. I’m just holding you on the line for the pleasure of hearing your voice.”

“Good bye.” She hit END. She was not about to admit to the pleasure of hearing his voice.

The date was much the same, externally. They drove, not far, between the restaurant and the theater. If somebody had been spying on them, he probably wouldn’t have noticed Craig’s arm being a centimeter closer to her.

What she felt from that arm, however, included all the feelings she remembered from the kiss and all those she anticipated from the next one.

“Let’s say good night at the inner door,” she suggested just before they reached the outer one.

“Fine.” He was otherwise silent until they reached the inner door. When he bent to kiss her, his hands weren’t on her face. They slid down her back, pulling her into the kiss.

He grasped her butt. Then he lifted her. Her back slid up the solid wall; her breasts slid up his chest, which felt equally solid. When he stopped, some bone of his was lodged between her legs, and every inch of her vulva felt it. His erection was solid -- and hot -- against her thigh. His tongue plundered her mouth. His hands on her butt were squeezing one side and then the other.

Her nipples swelled rock hard against his unrelenting chest. Heat spread through her, and every squeeze of his hands pumped it to her center.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on while he took her flying through space.

“Get a room,” somebody said from up close.

“Or, at least, move out of the doorway so we can get by.” That was a girl’s voice.

Craig set her down to one side, and she hid her face in his shirt while the couple went through.

“Jee, Alicia, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Really?” She wasn’t that flirtatious, but that had been an experience unique in her life.

He laughed. “Well, I’m sorry we got caught.” She did the warning ritual, opened the door, and went upstairs. She could feel his eyes on her until she’d passed the landing.

Sasha didn’t get back until Al was almost ready to leave.

“Good date?” Al asked.

“Scrumptious. Yours?”

“Well, we’re not at the stage you are, but it was scrumptious in a second-date way,”

“Third date’s when you screw, you know,” Sasha said.

“Not when I screw.” But she wasn’t certain she could resist Craig if he began with kisses like those.

She picked Anne up and walked with her towards the library.

“Cray,” Anne said when they got to the corner. And Craig was, indeed, standing across from them.

“Good! Now what does the light say?”

“Green says go.” And Anne was tearing across the street. “Cray!” she yelled when she got to him.

“I like you, too, Anne,” Craig said, “but you must hold Aunt Al’s hand when you cross the street.”

“Pome.”

“No poem when you haven’t obeyed. We’ll see what you do the next trip to the library.”

“Pome!”

“No!”

Anne was angry, and tried to run away, but Craig held her wrist until Al could get there. Anne kicked his leg, without his even reacting. When Al got to them, he held out the wrist he was holding, and Al took it.

“Sorry,” Craig said. “I didn’t know she’d even noticed the verse. My prevarication seemed appropriate.” Anne didn’t seem to see through his vocabulary.

“She’ll get over it.” In the library, Craig disappeared upstairs while they went to select books. When he joined them, Anne was neither as enthusiastic as she had been outside -- thank the Lord -- nor as nasty as she had been about the poem. Anne chose her books, and she checked them out. Craig had apparently done his work earlier. Anne held both hands when she crossed the street, and Craig walked them to Deb’s apartment house.

“Can you go up by yourself while Aunt Alicia stays down to talk to me for ten minutes?” Craig asked Anne. Anne was a big girl who could do anything by herself. (Whether she could survive trying was another question entirely.) Al unlocked the door, and Anne ran up the steps.

“You could have asked me,” she said to Craig.

“You could have said no. I’ve two separate questions. Anne was very good about crossing the street on the way back. Do you think that she deserves a reward for that? Or, I said no. Should the punishment for the previous disobedience stand? You’re the early-childhood expert.”

She was also the aunt. Still, when Craig appealed to her as authority, she could hardly argue about which authority was paramount. “Did you really have another poem all this time?”

“I lied to her about that, but I ran another off at the library. My whole family are Milne fans; we sometimes quote them aloud. I sometimes miss a word, but I have enough of enough poems to pull them off Google any time I want.” He got his back pack in front and extracted a sheet of paper. “So, does she get the reward or not?”

She took the paper. “You’re awfully kind.”

“Hold that thought. The second question is what do college graduates do for dates.”

“Um, you’ve been out more years than I have months.”

“Not quite,” he said. “Thing is, on campus, I’d invite you to the next dance. I don’t get the impression that you’re a great fan of off-Broadway theater. Though you have to admit that the ones we’ve seen aren’t so far off Broadway.”

The theaters they’d visited had been within a couple blocks of Broadway; the library actually faced the street. It was, however, Chicago’s Broadway, not the center of New York theater. She gave him the look the joke deserved.

“Would movies be okay?” he continued. “I want to have time with you, and I want the experiences to be pleasant for you.”

“Movies would be fine.” As long as the evenings ended with one of those kisses, she would enjoy an evening picking over garbage.

“Well, I’m not going to be specific now. That would destroy my excuse for calling you tonight. See you.”

He didn’t kiss her good bye, and she went up the stairs. Anne, despite the books, was quite happy to get another poem from Craig.

“He walked you back here?” Deb asked. “I would have had a date out of that.”

“We’re going to the movies Friday. It will be our third date.”

“You know I have to get to the laundry. If you’re not there, some of them will pull your clothes out when the dryer stops, and what happens to the clothes isn’t their fault. They think. But I’ll be back for all the details.”

She did come back, and she got all the details that Al thought she deserved to know.

The next two Fridays, they went to movies. Despite her history, and probably his, they sat in the main floor and not the balcony. His arm was across her shoulder, but he never touched her breast during the film. They went to a reasonably early showing and ate afterwards. Then he took her home, she brought him inside the building, though not up to the apartment. Then he kissed her senseless. He seemed reluctant to let her go, and she was damned reluctant to leave him.

Craig never unbuttoned her blouse, but he kissed her through blouse and bra. She found wet spots on the tips of her bra cups when she got undressed.


Craig was dissatisfied with his dates. Or rather, while he was quite pleased with the dates themselves, he feared that he was a dull date. Movies and live drama were not the greatest contrast. Alicia had expressed willingness to continue in that pattern, but he wanted not her acceptance, but her excitement. She damned-well excited him.

The office held a Labor-Day picnic. Vacations seemed to mess up participation at times more appropriate for a picnic. Rather than a work day, they held it when he would be off, and Craig thought that was cheap of them. Still, it was free food and beer. Even so, he arrived late.

Then he saw Miss Phillips from accounting, with the guy who must have been her fiance. When they broke apart, he went over to the guy and stuck out his hand.

“I’m Craig,” he said.

“Nate.”

“You’re dating Miss Phillips aren’t you?”

“We’re getting married next June,” Nate said.

“So, you’re a success at the romance department. I’ve got a girl, but we’re getting tired of movies. When I was in school, there were dances all the time. What are the best places to take a date in Chicago?”

“Susan!” When Miss Phillips came over carrying a glass, Nate said, “Craig here wants to know where to take his girl. What’s the best cheap date we had? He’s not ready to propose.”

“Yeah. That was great! It wasn’t cheap, though. Have you thought of the zoo? You look, so it isn’t like going to the beach. Still, it’s not like a movie where if you pay attention to your date instead of the screen you’re losing your ticket price. You can look; you can talk.”

“Thanks. Thanks a bunch!” Craig let them decide how to share his thanks, but he meant Nate especially. If he’d asked Susan Phillips about dating, she could have interpreted it as sexual harassment. With Nate doing the asking, it wasn’t. And it got him the female perspective.

That night, he called Alicia.

Al expected Craig’s call Saturday evening. It sort of completed her day. After a certain amount of “How are you?” and “Wasn’t Anne sweet?” he got down to the business.

“Look, you don’t see Anne next weekend, do you?”

“No.”

“How about, instead of a movie Friday night, we go to the zoo Saturday morning?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. It also sounded cheap. She liked that Craig hadn’t turned their dates into simple booty calls with no spending. Still, she didn’t want him going broke over her. Then they couldn’t date at all.

The day was lovely. If they didn’t sit with his arm around her, they walked hand in hand for hours. Sometimes, he kissed her hand; once, he licked her palm. “Delicious Alicia,” he said.

The date wasn’t as cheap as all that. Craig seemed to think that he needed to feed her a “real meal” on every date. By the time they left the zoo, she was ready for one. He’d scouted out a restaurant on the Internet. It was minutes off their route, and served a major Italian menu even at 3:3O p. m.

The kiss was as arousing as ever, but she had to break it sooner. She barely made it into the apartment and the john in time.

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