Your erotic stories

“Hey, here we go,” Jenny said enthusiastically. “’Fiesta Bowl Tickets. Best offer. 555-3785.’ He doesn’t even bother mentioning money. Maybe he’s thinking like we are.” “Could be. Might be worth a call.” Kim never looked up from the paper she was reading on the couch. The remainder of the Sunday paper was strewn on the apartment’s floor. Except for the classifieds, which Jenny scanned at the kitchen table.

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