Thursday Night. I head home from work after another long day at the office. Fortunately, the trains are on time; I'm tired and hungry. I could use a hot meal and a shower, but, it's Thursday.
I walk up to my apartment door and unlock it. I know what's waiting for me. It's Thursday night. It's her night. I enter my apartment and she's there waiting for me. She's as beautiful as ever and as naked as the day God graced us with her presence on Earth.
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Alice van der Poole loved her boyfriend. Really, she did. Ben was perfectly handsome, perfectly sweet, perfectly... bland. Every kiss was preceded with a gentle, "May I kiss you?" and followed by a whispered, "You're so beautiful." At night, Ben would tell her how precious she was, how delicate and sweet and lovely. His fragile, perfect little rose. Alice wanted to scream.
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Mark lazily stabbed his fork at the frozen meal, puncturing the plastic before shoving it in the microwave. He set the timer before taking a long sip of his beer, his third of the evening. He tossed the package toward the garbage, already overflowing with similar boxes and the matching dirty trays.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, he scratched at the rough beard on his jaw.
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"Missy... wake up!"
"Who... what is it?"
"It's me, Officer McDonald. Come on, sweetie, wake up!"
"What time is it?"
"Shhhh! It's just after three in the morning. Come on, get up."
"Why?"
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I'd been to this Starbucks many times before. It was my home Starbucks. Sure, I'd seen lots of cute girls there. I do live near Hollywood, so attractive girls are by no means rare. I never approached them though. I wouldn't quite know how. Do you just go up to one and "meow" to let her know the effect her femininity is having? Doesn't she probably already know? I'm not sure if those questions are rhetorical or just pointless, but I know I'd never done it before.
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Nine o'clock on a Tuesday and I'm in bed reading. I feel you in the doorway before I see you. I look up to say hello and the words die in my mouth as our eyes meet. Intimidating is a word most people would use to describe my half of our couple. You're the affable one that everybody loves. You're the perfect boyfriend.
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"Come here."
I've been watching Sarah for the last few minutes. My book closed on my finger, marking my place. She's been, I don't know, bopping? Fiddling? Fussing? Not really doing anything, just, waffling around. She's barefooted in jeans. So,
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Booches was one of the most popular campus hangouts being only three blocks away from the large public university. It was a quiet bar where businessmen, students and professors felt equally at home. The food menu was scant consisting of little more than burgers but the owner always seemed to make everyone feel welcome and he was silent about who met who and did what with whom.
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Lorri woke to a strange sensation. She was completely uncovered, which wasn't that unusual. Her niece routinely stole all the blankets. The difference was that she felt the cool air on every inch of her skin. She never slept naked while at her sister's place. She tried to reach down and feel what had happened and felt an icy shiver run up her spine. Her hands were tied to the bedpost above her. And it felt as though she was gagged as well.
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I couldn't believe this was the guy I'd be working with. I stopped in my tracks at the doorway and furrowed my brows at the script.
TWINK: [Needs to be expressive, bubbly, seductive, cute]
The description listed all of the stereotypical roles of a twink, but this guy sitting beside Dave—or should I say on the same couch as Dave, as they were by no means near each other—was anything but. Dave insists upon introducing his actors in his house beforehand, to sort of break the ice in a relaxed atmosphere (instead of an awkward first meeting on set).
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