“daddy’s gardener”

At that point the gardener turns to us and stands up. Daddy forcefully turns my head to him. I watch a line of sweat drip down this dark-haired beautiful Indian man. It drips down his sculpted jaw and onto his hairy dark chest. It drips down his nipple and onto his the curves of his abdomen. Michelangelo’s David (an Indian Version!).

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“motorcycle meat”

I bought a motorcycle. It looks like a little cop chopper. I love riding, it makes me feel alive, I think for me it’s the closest thing to flying. Anyway, the other night I was parked on a street just minding my business when someone taps me on the back. As I turn I see […]

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