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February 22, 2008
In the living room, she’s seated at my feet, looking up at me with those enormous teal Margaret Keane eyes, running her fingertips over my bare calf. I don’t stop her.

In the kitchen, she’s standing alongside me, talking to her other guests, her right hand cupping my left ass cheek. I don’t stop her.

In the hallway, she’s facing me, her hand in my hair, her tongue probing my mouth. I don’t stop her.

This is our second little make-out session. I don’t want a third. So how do I tell my “BFF” I want to be “just friends”?