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The choir uniform had cocks rigid. Uniforms and men, the lure of the undisciplined action, copious random filthy sex acts …where some sort of external order was meant to exist. Purity defiled, violating the angel, sully and stain the whiteness. There was a French kiss to the left and …to the right. Her tartan skirt was off. The crotch-less black panties and the slabs of fleshy girly loose skin between them and fire-crotch pubes…political careers and mistresses…who gave a fuck…it was fuckin'. I was letting Laura's bad disposition bother me and the large breakfast I had eaten didn't help. Getting out of bed I tiptoed out of the room and walked from room to room. On the kitchen table were three glasses. The one Sylvia had used was empty but mine had not been touched. The straight scotch smelled strong. Lifting the glass to my lips I took several sips and chased them with the water I had poured earlier for Sylvia.When I returned to the bed Laura reached for me. "Hold me," she murmured. Angela grabbed my arm and poked me hard in the ribs. “Hey, stop staring. Put your eyes back inside your head Rob.” And then she started laughing. She leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Isn’t Lisa so hot. I have the hottest girlfriends, right?” I nodded in agreement and we lay our towels out on the sun chairs. Lisa asked Angela to put suntan lotion on her back and Angela took the SPF 50 and slowly and methodically covered every inch of Lisa’s body. I could swear the two of them were enjoying. I can't be bothered getting dressed so I reach for a woollen scarf, and wrap it around my long swan-like neck, step into a pair of my sister's riding boots, and pull on a duffel coat, and walk out.Stepping into the snow, makes me aware of my nudity, as a blast of cold air shoots under the heavy woollen coat, and makes my labia curl, as they lie snugly between my thighs, 'WTF', shoots through my mind, but at 18, a girl knows her body and is sexually aware enough as to be bold to show and not.
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