'You'll have to help me though, I'm not very good' she smiled at Paul, he smiled back 'Sure love, come over here.' He positioned her hands on the cue ...nd stood beside her 'Going to need more help than that' she giggled as she shook her arse at him. Standing behind her he helped her aim, while she began rubbing her arse against his crotch and he was reacting better to her than what Sam did.She could feel him getting hard, her arse pressed against his jeans told her all she needed to know that he. There was just no two ways around it.It wasn't only that his language was stilted and clunky, antiquated evenin his own day, or that his themes were self-censored, disguised intortured euphemisms to the point of utter obscurity. He was simply a badwriter. There was a good reason he was self-published. Who else would?Birdwell had an ear with more tin in it than a can.Marcia's fantasy, ex- graduate student of literature that she was, ofrescuing Birdwell from obscurity and providing American. More

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