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She’s my type
Tall, skinny, 32A, and a goody good smile
I always love her poetry
Her thoughts about life
How she handles her problems
The way she sings
Even when she’s smoking, I like her, period

And last night, I met her
I hugged her
Skin to skin
Sweat. Sweet. Wet.

“I like you. You are my type,” she said.

Was it the weeds?
The beers?
Or maybe it’s nothing. Purely jokes.

“I want to fuck you,” she replied my giggled (yeah that’s the best answer I could did. Giggling.)

Fuck.

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