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Archive name: warbler.txt (F/mmm-teens)
Authors name: DrSpin (drspin@newsguy.com)
Story title : Red-Shouldered Mangrove Warbler
----------------------------------------------------
DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: I write and you read,
if you care to. That's all there is to it. If any
reader is offended, and I would be surprised to hear
it, he/she should not have been here in the first
place and only has himself/herself to blame. If this
story is relocated, please leave my name intact as
the author and please include my email address.
----------------------------------------------------
The Red-Shouldered Mangrove Warbler (F/mmm)
by DrSpin (drspin@newsguy.com)
January 2000
The pretty girl next door was getting married next
weekend. I knew her but not that well. My two
buddies had turned up in the 4-wheel-drive and we
were packing the gear in the front yard when she
came over to the fence. A camping trip, she asked?
Well, no. My hobby, my passion, was bird watching
and I had converted Ben and Graham, which hadn't
been all that hard because neither had ever really
had a life yet. Nice guys, all of us. You know?
Plain and ordinary. But bird watching? I knew full
well what it sounded like as I talked.
She smiled brilliantly. Carrie. That was her name.
She was 20 and maybe too young to be getting
married. But what the hell did I know about it
anyway. I was only 16 myself and the biggest thing
in my life was bird watching. Which is what we
were packing up to do and we wouldn't be back till
dark and we were really out there looking for the
red-shouldered mangrove warbler and you never did
know but we might just catch a flash of the rare
but very pretty little bastard at this time of the
year. If we were careful. Might even get a photo.
Which would be terrific and maybe even important
at this time of the year. The words kept tumbling
out of my mouth and she kept smiling brilliantly.
Well look, she said, it was such a nice day and she
didn't have anything at all to do but get into
mischief worrying about next weekend and whether
she was doing the right thing and all that, and now
the words were just tumbling out of her lovely
mouth, and rather nervously too, and the upshot
was that maybe we could let her tag along. If it
wasn't too much trouble.
Huh? This beautiful chick? Carrie? She was asking
to come along with three nerdy younger guys like
us? Jeez, didn't she have anything better to do?
Well, as it turned out, she didn't. Except get into
mischief. Etcetera.
So there we were, bouncing along off-road in Ben's
father's battered Jeep (Ben was 17 and could drive
legally) and I was sitting in the back next to Carrie
looking under lowered eyelids at her long slender
legs, which were there stretched out beside me at
some considerable length because she was wearing
this little short pale yellow summer dress spotted
with little black or maybe dark blue flowers and
with buttons down the front. Gosh but she was
pretty. She was marrying some smooth jerk next
Saturday somewhere out of town and she was going
off to live with him someplace somewhere else.
Lucky stiff. She sure was pretty.
She chattered away about the groom, whose name
was Jeff, and about the wedding and about what a
pain in the backside her mother was because she
horned her way into everything and how they agreed
on nothing and how it was blissful to escape her
for just one day. The Jeep was noisy and she leaned
and swayed towards me, her mouth directed to my
ear. She was sitting close because the bench seat
beside her carried her capacious drawstring bag
and her wide-brimmed straw hat with its long
trailing yellow ribbon. I nodded and murmured and
looked covertly at her long and smooth legs
stretching down to her little canvas shoes. Jesus
but she was pretty. She had perfect knees.
You wouldn't believe, she said into my ear, what
she had to put up with just to do a simple thing
like get married. Such a huge enormous fuss about
everything and everybody. And the whole wedding
thing was turning her into something she definitely
was not. She hated every single item of clothing
she would be wearing on the day, right down to her
underwear. All of it had been chosen by her mother.
Carrie had battled with her all the way and had
lost every skirmish.
I looked at her in mild surprise. "Underwear? You
had a fight about underwear?"
"Oh yes," she said. "The biggest fight. But I lost
as usual and now I'll be wearing stitched shiny white
with reinforcing and wires and suspender belts and
God knows what else. It feels like I'm wearing full
battle rig. I'll walk down the aisle like a spaceman
on the moon."
I laughed at the image of her in a huge white wed-
ding gown, legs and arms stiff and stuck out, wob-
bling and waddling to the altar. "Oh dear," I said
sympathetically. "It sounds complicated."
"Well, it's just not me," she said resignedly. "I'm
a simple girl.
Given a choice, I like to wear things like I'm
wearing today."
"And very pretty they are," I said with mock
gallantry. "Especially the hat."
She beamed at me. "That's nice," she said. "You
can say it again if you like."
"About the hat?"
"No, the pretty part. I seem to need that at the
moment."
"Oh well then," I said. "Let's look at you. Pretty
yellow dress, pretty hat, lovely long and glossy
dark hair with just a bit of curl and tied loosely at
the neck, very pretty face, cute nose, clear grey-
blue eyes, terrific slim figure and extremely excel-
lent legs. Great skin tone. All up, I'd have to
say you are the prettiest thing on this half of the
planet."
She even blushed prettily. "Over the top, Michael,"
she said. "But thanks anyway."
"You're welcome. And I think you're perfectly
right about the clothes and the underwear and all
that. You should tell them to jam it and wear what
you want. It's your wedding day, for Christ's sake."
She sighed. "Too late for that. I'm signed, sealed
and just about delivered."
"You don't sound all that convinced about it,
Carrie."
She pursed her mouth and studied me for a
moment. She sighed again.
"Isn't it awful? I think I'm having a panic attack."
"This Jeff," I said. "You must love him to say
you'll marry him?"
"I thought I did, right up to yesterday. Now I'm not
sure I even like him."
"Oh dear. Maybe this is normal."
"Maybe," she agreed, and sighed again. "I just wish
they'd not take me for granted. Like a good little
girl. Why do I have to do the good little girl thing
all the time?" She lapsed into silence, hands folded
in her lap, and looked out the window.
We arrived at the chosen place, backed up the
vehicle and started unloading. Carrie wanted to
know where we were going. Into the mangroves,
we explained. That's where the warbler was. We
hoped. She looked at our gumboots unenthusias-
tically. Was it muddy? Well, yes. Mangroves, you
know. Look, we said, we didn't expect her to come
with us. In fact it would not be ideal if she did,
because the warbler was a timid bird and you had
to be patient, careful and quiet.
She looked about her at the small and secluded
clearing. She thought it nice enough. She'd wait
for us, read a book and maybe catch some sun. How
long would we be? We thought maybe a couple of
hours, depending on our luck, and we'd be back for
a spot of lunch.
We had no luck at all. It was a near birdless
morning, let alone the scarce red-shouldered
mangrove warbler. We made our way back disap-
pointed, with a full camera and empty stomachs.
Maybe things would improve later in the afternoon.
We stepped into the clearing where we'd left the
car and found Carrie looking awkward and flustered,
which was understandable because she was standing
crouched with a red-and-white striped towel
clutched around her.
"Yikes," she said to us. "You're early. You don't
know how close that was. I didn't hear you until the
very last moment."
Replay. Calculation. Deduction. She'd been sun-
bathing on the towel. She wasn't wearing much.
Maybe nothing. Confirmation. There on the ground
was the drawstring bag, the hat with the ribbon,
the yellow dress with the flowers, a white bra
and white pants. And a book. And a tube of the
sun lotion variety.
She straightened, pulled the towel tight and tucked
a corner into her cleavage. Her bare shoulders and
upper chest were smoothly beautiful. The towel
finished about halfway between her groin and her
knees. She was still wearing the canvas shoes.
Only. And the towel. Just the towel. And the shoes.
My brain was digesting this in large chunks. Holy
smoke. A minute ago this lovely creature was lying
on the ground buck naked.
"So," she said, apparently recomposed, "did we see
the pretty little red bird like we hoped? Did we get
any photographs?"
"No," answered Graham morosely. "No birds, no
photographs. A washout."
"Maybe we'll get lucky later," I added. My voice
sounded a little hoarse to me. I think I actually
croaked.
"Maybe not, either," said Ben pessimistically.
We ate a meagre lunch, a few unglamorous sandwiches
and some pieces of fruit, standing around the back
of the Jeep. Carrie, who remained wrapped in the
towel, was buzzed by an insect. She reached up to
swat at it and in the process the top of the towel
worked loose. It sagged and slipped away, exposing
completely her left breast before she clutched it
to her body. Unhurriedly, looking at my face with
a lack of expression, she readjusted the towel. I
expected at least an `oops' from her but she said
nothing. Ben and Graham were away on the other side
of the vehicle examining a dubious tyre. They had
seen nothing. But I saw her breast, which was not
big but not small either, perfectly round and per-
fectly shaped, topped with a small brown nipple
which tipped upwards.
I stood looking at her, perplexed. I had seen her
breast and she knew it. She was cool so I should be
cool. I tried. "So," I said, "are you feeling any
better about your fiance? I mean, have you learned
to like him again?"
She raised one eyebrow at me. "I haven't given him
one second's thought," she said. "Or my mother. Or
the wedding, for that matter. It's really nice out
here and I want to thank you guys for letting me
come along. I just needed to get away from it for a
day."
Ben and Graham had returned. "No worries," said
Graham. "I only wish we could find a nice bird or
two to show you. But there's nothing and I don't
think there's going to be anything." He sighed. "No
birds. No photographs. It's been a no result trip."
"Well, we can't have that. Let's make sure we get a
result," said Carrie. "I'm sort of a type of bird.
Why don't you photograph me?"
We three looked at her, standing there smiling,
and I was thinking ragged and jerky again. Like
photograph, camera, Carrie, towel, naked, breast.
All words which wouldn't link up into a proper
chain.
"Uh, sure thing," said Graham, who was more than
handy with a camera.
He even had his own dark room. "Sounds good to
me."
"I know what you're thinking," she said, still
smiling. "But I have to tell you I'll be keeping
certain clothes on." She gestured to me. "Get my
nice hat for me." I fetched it and she perched it on
her head. "The hat stays and so do the shoes," she
said, and I was thinking her smile was a little
tight and strained. "But if we can strike a deal
I'm prepared to lose the towel."
The other two had their mouths open like fish. I
hoped I didn't. "A deal?" I asked.
"The photos," she said. "They can't go anywhere.
I'm outa here next week but my family lives in this
town."
"Sure thing," said Graham. "I'll give you the negs."
"You can keep them. Just don't show them to anybody.
You have to promise me."
We murmured in promising fashion. Her smile had
gone. It was difficult to read her face. She looked
like she was concentrating. A silence developed
and she appeared to have her mind elsewhere. Graham
coughed. "I'll grab the camera," he said, and ducked
around to the back of the Jeep.
Carrie drew a deep breath. You could hear it plainly.
Suddenly she smiled again, radiantly. "Fuck it," she
said, and it was quite shocking to hear her say it.
"Let's be mad and have some fun for a change."
She moved away from the vehicle and into the
clearing. She turned and faced us. "I can't believe
I'm doing this," she said. And again, a hesitation
as if she was thinking about something unrelated.
Then, in a flash, she whipped the towel away and
stood there, naked. Except for the straw hat and
the long ribbon. And the canvas shoes.
Maybe this is what happened when people got God.
A blinding vision thing. An unforgettable exper-
ience. It was an astounding revelation that she
could look so good.
I mean, I'd seen two girls naked in the flesh. I'd
seen photographs in magazines and I'd seen movies.
Carrie-in-the-flesh was so much better. She stood
awkwardly and anxiously, with her head cocked to
the side, looking in turn at each of our faces and
then again. And again. Man, she was so perfect.
Everything was there in exactly the right place
and exactly the right size and exactly the right
shape. Her breasts were perfect for the frame of
her body and her waist perfectly narrow and hips
perfectly wide and legs perfectly long and slender.
At her centre, like a target, was a perfect vee of
pubic hair, not too much and not too little, and it
seemed to be two-toned in colour, like rich choco-
late brown at the outer and black at the inner.
And all over, everywhere the eye looked, her skin
was wholly unblemished. Not a mark. Not a blotch.
Nothing. Sheer perfection.
Absurdly, she burst out laughing. Her body shook
and she bent over, her breasts hanging and swaying
until she clamped them together with her arms,
putting up her hands to hold her face. In a moment
she stood up straight again and it was obvious her
nervous moment had passed. She stood relaxed,
smiling, even confident. "Sorry about that," she
said. "But you should see your faces. You look
absolutely terrified." She giggled. "I had this
nagging worry you might gang up and hurt me but
now I see that's not going to happen."
I didn't know about Graham or Ben but I wasn't
terrified. Stupefied, maybe. And even while I stood
transfixed, a little venomous spider was running
around my brain, set loose by her words. We were
three guys. She was just a girl. Easy. Barely any
effort at all. Push her, pin her, take her. Easy.
Nah. She was way too nice. Besides, I was thinking
about standing there and watching her until I grew
old. I heard the click of the camera and Graham
was crouching, snapping her. She smiled readily for
him and bent her head. Nah. She was way too cute.
She struck poses effortlessly and gracefully. "You
know," she said, "I've always secretly wanted to do
this." She flirted beautifully with the camera.
Holding her hat on her head and looking into the
distance, a wistful smile on her pretty face. Lean-
ing gracefully back against a tree. Perched on the
bonnet of the big square 4-wheel-drive. For 20
minutes or so she breezed her way around the clear-
ing, towing all three of us on an invisible rope.
Graham took the photos. Me and Ben did nothing
but watch. She was glorious. She was also, you
could see it clearly, happy. And when it wound
down of its own accord, she insisted we conclude
with pictures of us with her. Silly pictures after
what had gone on, like holiday snaps. We each took
a turn with the camera while she stood between the
remaining two, us clothed and her naked. They
were, she said, the photos she would remember
best.
She rewrapped herself in the towel, sat on the
bonnet of the car and looked directly at me.
"You're less amazed than they are about this," she
said. "Tell them why I did it."
I thought for a moment. "I guess," I began
hesitantly, "it's an act of rebellion." She smiled
her wonderful smile. "I guess," I continued, "it's
probably the last thing your mother would expect
you to do. You're getting married next weekend
and this has been a show of defiance to all of them.
Your mother. Your fiance. Even though you won't
tell them, you'll still know what you did. How am I
going?"
"Not bad," she said. "It's also been great fun. I've
never felt so free to do what I want. You know,"
she cocked her head, "it's true what I said in the
car. I really have been pretty much a good girl all
my life. I've only had sex with three guys, includ-
ing Jeff, and that's not much for a girl getting
married." She grinned widely suddenly. "I was
about to say I've done it less than you guys but
then this funny idea popped into my head. You guys
haven't done it at all. I just look at you and know
it's true."
Silence. I knew Ben and Graham certainly hadn't
and they thought I hadn't but actually I had, two
years ago with a plump and aggressive distant
cousin and it had been an awkward, clumsy and
very forgettable experience. Never mind. Now was
not the time for recrimination.
Carrie laughed and clapped her hands. "Priceless,"
she said. Then she stopped laughing all of a sudden.
After a moment she jumped down from the car and
rummaged through her bag. "Look at that," she said.
"I think somebody is trying to tell me something.
Just three condoms left and I won't be seeing Jeff
again until my wedding day." She shaded her eyes
from the sun with a hand and looked at us. "Maybe
it's a fair trade. I get to double my head count
before I get married and you guys get to lose your
cherries."
She'd gone stark staring mad. Too much sun or
something. No way did this make any sense. The
naked thing, maybe. It was mad enough but she was
really just sticking it up her mother and we three
were ancillary. But now? Way-pretty imminent blush-
ing bride Carrie getting it on with three awkward,
sweating, nervous and somewhat less than average
standard package guys who were junior in every
possible way? Face it. We were about as exciting
as a handbook on superannuation.
"Maybe you want to think about this," I suggested,
trying for her sake.
"I did already," she said. "Let's go alphabetical.
That means you." She pointed at Ben, reached out
and took his hand. Wearing her towel and carrying
three wrapped condoms, she scooped up her clothing
and led him away into the scrub, Ben looking back
at us twice over his shoulder. You'd have thought
he was about to face a firing squad.
"Shee-it," said Graham with pronounced feeling
after they disappeared.
"Right," I agreed. "Amazing stuff."
He nodded. "Amazing."
"Guess what? You're next."
"Shee-it," he said.
After a time which scarcely seemed long enough
Ben re-emerged, tucking in his shirt. He stopped
before us and looked at Graham. "She wants you
now," he said. "About 20 yards in, veering right."
Graham sucked in his breath. "Shee-it," he said,
almost absently, and set off.
"Don't say a word," I said to Ben. "I'm worried it's
a dream and you might smash it."
He rolled his eyes. "Fuck my brown dog," he said.
From Ben it was a big statement.
I put up my hand like a traffic cop. "Uh. Not a
word." He hovered for a moment, thought about it,
nodded and moved away to the Jeep to pack away
the gear.
My attention wandered as I strolled in small circles
in the warm sun of the afternoon. I put off thinking
about Carrie because if I started to think about her
my guts turned liquid. It was such a nice day. The
sky was fiercely blue, the breeze gentle, and birds
were peeping and cheeping in the branches of a dark
green tree festooned with small orange berries. Such
a pleasant chirruping and whirring sound.
My head snapped up. I knew that sound. I peered
into the tree. And there it was: The red-shouldered
mangrove warbler. And another. And another. Amazed,
I watched as four flashy warblers hopped and flitted
around the tree pecking at and swallowing the little
orange berries.
I swivelled and looked for Ben. He was nowhere to
be seen. Out of the bush, stumbling over a fallen
branch, came Graham. He almost fell, straightened,
picked up the branch, swung it around and threw it
mightily in the air. It whistled over my head and
crashed into the dark green tree. He was grinning
hugely. He punched the air like a victorious prize
fighter and pointed the way back into the scrub.
I swung back to look for the warblers. They'd
vanished, frightened by Graham's big stick. He
clapped a hand on my shoulder, still grinning.
Then he saw the expression on my face. "What's
the matter with you?" he asked. "You look like
your grandmother just died."
I looked at him and back at the tree. Fuck the red-
shouldered mangrove warbler. There was a job to
do. "Nothing," I said cheerfully. "I think I might
just go and rendezvous with somebody over there
in the bushes."
"Mad if you don't," he advised.
Carrie was sitting nakedly but neatly on the striped
beach towel, knees drawn up and her arms wrapped
around them. "Well," she said, "if it isn't the kid
who lives next door."
"Yes," I said. "I'm going to miss you."
She smiled, just a little sadly. "I wish I'd known
you better," she said. "You're a really nice guy to
talk to, Michael. You could have been a good friend
when I needed one."
"The age difference, though," I pointed out.
"Probably right," she agreed, stretching out her legs
in a vee and revealing herself unambiguously. "Maybe
we should begin the catch up process."
"You're sure?" I hesitated, still not truly believing.
"Positive," she said. "This has been the most reward-
ing sex of my life."
Now I was astounded and instantly intimidated.
"You're kidding. You must be kidding. Ben and
Graham? They were good?"
"They were terrible. But don't tell them. We're all
terrible when we start and everybody improves in
great leaps forward. I'm just saying I felt good
about it."
"You mean the giving thing," I ventured. "Like a
nurse comforting the lost and the lame and the
hopeless."
She laughed. Then: "Take off those jeans, Mikey.
The day is growing older."
I stood before her wearing only my tee shirt and she
rolled the final condom into place and smoothed it
out with both hands. I'd have given her my life
savings for that experience alone.
"You're certainly ready, willing and able," she said.
"You got a steel pin in there or something? I had to
use some encouragement on one of your pals."
I clapped my hands to my ears. "Tell me no more. It's
bad for me to know that."
She smiled. "It's time," she said, pulling me down
to her.
Carrie was so beautiful. It didn't go away no matter
how close you got to her. No upclose and personal
imperfections. She was a star, and I was lucky
enough to be allowed to put something of myself
inside her body. She studied my face and watched
my eyes, never not smiling to some degree. She
looked and appeared serenely comfortable. And
nothing more than that. There was no passion. How
could there be? But certainly there was an easy and
warm and pleasant accommodation and I didn't
doubt for a second the sincerity of her gift.
I completed my task and for the first time I think in
a couple of hours felt myself go soft. I eased out of
her and placed my head gently on her breasts. A
nipple poked insistently into the softest part of my
cheek and she stroked my hair gently. The breeze
was stiffening, the sun sliding and slanting away
and all the birds were talking about it.
"I have a favour to ask," I murmured.
"What?"
"Can I kiss you?"
She chuckled and I felt it vibrate against my cheek.
"Sure," she said.
"Of course you can."
I cradled her face gently in both hands and kissed
her. I started it by saying thanks but it kept going
and growing. She was so beautiful. She was
glorious.
I pulled back and she raised an eyebrow in that cute
way she had about her. "Well," she said. "If you
kiss me like that again I warn you I'm going to
have to kiss you back."
So I did and she did, and with it I felt and absorbed
the first real stirrings of passion in her. Odd, isn't
it. Sometimes you can fuck a girl and she'll just lie
there. And sometimes you can kiss the same girl
deeply and meaningfully and she'll purr and growl
like a hungry leopard licking at her prey before
devouring it. But that's a diversion. Back to the
story.
She broke the kiss eventually and I could tell the
episode was concluded. Even though I was getting-
there-hard-again there would be no encore. We
dressed and rejoined Ben and Graham and it was all
very pleasant and relaxed; even polite. We drove
back to town with Carrie leaning against me in the
back seat and dozing on my shoulder.
"Well," she said to us as we stopped outside her
house, "it's been fun. Just don't tell anybody and
we'll all live happily ever after."
Ben and Graham never saw her again. But I lived
next door, remember, and there's still the final
chapter of a story to tell. Three days after Red
Warbler Sunday I was passing her house around
dusk when she hailed me from her front steps. She
was leaving on a jet plane on the morrow and that
evening she was having the final fitting of the
celebrated wedding dress. The dressmaker would
be gone by eight and her mother had to be at a
meeting at 8.30 so if I liked I could drop by after
then and see her in the dress.
Sure I liked. It was Carrie. I went home and on the
spur of the moment I manufactured a suitable wed-
ding gift. I sliced out carefully from my big bird
book a full-page colour plate artist's rendition
of the red-shouldered mangrove warbler, took down
from the wall my prized autographed photograph of
G.S.Chappell walking through the player's gate at
the Gabba, relegated the great batsman to a drawer
and replaced him in the mounted and carved frame
with the dashing red warbler. It looked good.
It still looked good at 8.35 and Carrie liked it
tremendously well. She was right about the
wedding dress. Six children could have used it
effectively as a backyard tent. She looked like
Queen Elizabeth I. But she was cheerful about it
now and optimistic she could get through the
entire ordeal well enough. Being bad for a day
had helped, she said. She'd needed to let off
steam.
"Pity," I said. "I was hoping maybe you still had
some steam to let off."
She looked at me speculatively, amused. "Here and
now? In my wedding dress? That's bad, Mikey."
"Very bad," I agreed. "Can't think of anything
worse."
"Anyway," she said, "I used up my supply of condoms.
Unless you have one?"
"No."
"Then that's that, because I'm perilously close to
peak fertility. It's a conspiracy. I'm sure Jeff
and my mother want me to be impregnated on my
wedding night."
"So," I said. "It appears there is actually something
worse than doing it in your wedding dress."
She'd been wandering around the room and now she
turned and stood stock still. "You have silver
tongue, boy," she said. "You'll be a devil when you
grow up."
I fucked Carrie in her wedding dress that night
between 8.50 and 9.15. It was not an easy ac-
complishment. Practical matters determined that
I had to lie on my back on the floor while she
lowered herself to the task. I was completely
covered in masses of white material and could see
nothing and hear not much more. I knew she was
nervously excited, though. I could feel it in the
gripping action of her vagina as she stabbed her-
self quickly and repeatedly, and I could hear her
muttering and talking vaguely about how nasty and
awful she was being and how there was no excuse
for it. When I spurted long and deep into her she
shouted something I didn't catch and dropped her
weight on my pelvis and wriggled furiously.
Afterwards, and not long afterwards, she cooled
down quickly. "Get the hell out of here," she said to
me, meaning it but not harshly. "I never want to see
you again."
She did not. The next day she went away and two
days later she married. A few weeks later I received
a letter from her thanking me for my wedding present.
It was pretty much the formal response, except that
she made a point of saying she would treasure the
warbler and hang it always in a place close by. It
would remind her, she wrote, of good and bad times
back home.
I heard she had a baby but it was very much later
and not in contention. Over time I lost my photos
of Carrie somewhere. All bar one. It shows Ben and
me, and a beautiful naked girl in absolutely prime
condition between us, smiling and squinting into
the sun. I have it beside me as I write.
Ben and Graham continued bird watching but I gave it
up there and then. I'd seen the red-shouldered
mangrove warbler and what else was there? As well,
I couldn't talk about it and nobody would believe me
anyway, and that was a promise I kept. Until now.
Years and years later.
Oh well. I'll just be putting Carrie's photo away in
a safe place.
Just as soon as I look at it one more time.
ENDS
(drspin@newsguy.com)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
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Kristen's collection - Directory 11