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March 13, 2002
We’re in the 20 second window between the time my sheets have first caressed her pale, bare skin and the moment my palms do likewise. Her soft, round tits sag to the sides, as if the bedclothes are employing gravity in an attempt to fondle them. Her peepers pull me in, promissing surrender and collaboration. She flexes her fleshy legs. Her arms reach out. She’s ready to fuck. A siren screams past outside. And I think if I worried about all the worrisome business as much as I could, I could never keep my dick hard. When to suspend empathy?