Laura and I had arrived in Jamaica only four hours before. We hadn’t been ballsy enough to bring our own pot and decided that we needed to look for some. As everyone knows, the island is swimming in the stuff and we didn’t think there would be any problem.
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Just a few weeks ago, my next door neighbor held a party to celebrate the college graduation of their son, Alex. Alex and his family had been my neighbor for many years and so my wife and I were invited. The party began at 7pm and my wife and I walked over around 8pm.
The hosts had a bar set up on their back patio and a professional bartender was mixing and serving guest.
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Hair: black, long, straight as the trajectory of sinking moon on a hot summer night. Face: young, narrow eyes, stubbled, tanned by the sun of unwholesome lusts. Chest: narrow, hard, graven like pale stone. Jeans: faded, ripped, packed full where it matters.
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It was one of those casual mid week deals. Our new neighbors had gotten settled and invited us over for a glass of wine and conversation one Wednesday evening. We met them a month or so earlier at a house warming and ever since been exchanging what we call "The Neighborhood Benediction", those drive by waves and smiles we all exchange around here. Of course I had a few conversations with Andy – the male member of the household – as we took care of outdoor chores, and found him interesting and likeable.
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To some guys, my wife Cynthia is every man’s dream girl.
She may not be a centerfold, but she is all woman. Standing just under 5-5 in her stockings, her firm 34B breasts make her Victoria's Secret bras proud. Her long legs are finely displayed when she wears flowing skirts which end a few inches above her knees, and most are shocked when told that Cyndi is 35-years-old.
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After two years of community college in my home town I moved 150 miles away to attend a large university. I'd been busy settling in and getting started in my classes and hadn't really had a chance to meet anybody. It made for some lonely times. Rather than sit around and feel sorry for myself, I flipped through the yellow pages determined to find something fun to do on a Saturday night.
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A summer of fun and relaxation onboard a luxurious cruise ship in the Caribbean sea. It sounds like a dream come true, yet even though I got to experience just that, the memories from that time doesn't include much sun or relaxation. Perhaps the simple truth is because staff doesn't enjoy the cruises the same way as guests. I got the opportunity simply because someone thought I was good looking and it didn't help that I had a friend who was a friend with another. You know, it really had nothing to do with friendship, just being at the right party at the right time, wearing the right outfit and doing all the right things.
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You're never going to believe this. Honestly. I can hardly believe it myself, it's why I absolutely HAVE to tell someone. I'm not normally like this. It's just so unbelievable. But so fucking fantastic. It's kind of like finding out you've won the sexual lottery. I'm rambling, I know, but when something like this happens to you, you'll understand why.
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The dry warm spring day began to cool and I finally emerged from the reverie of fishing. All day I had fly fished on this desert river. The spring runoff from the surrounding mountains swelled the stream and kept me from feeling the heat of midday, but as the sun set the cold water began to chill me. I realized that I must pack my gear and try to find the road out of this wild place. Finding such an ideal spot, that was completely deserted, had been my goal and by using maps and conjecture I had successfully found the place I desired.
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The day that I went to the local food store, my intentions were to pick up a few items that are essential for the survival of a single guy living alone, nothing more. I hate grocery shopping. I'm twenty-three and my latest girl friend had moved out about three months ago, so there were no home cooked meals waiting for me when I got home from work.
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