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Related post: Date: Tue, 4 Mar 2003 21:55:51 -0600 From: Tom Emerson Subject: ONE FISH AT A TIME CHAPT. FIFTEEN & SIXTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN "Darling?" the adult Harry said to his beautiful daughter, "did you like the story?" "Mmm," the girl purred, "I just don't know why you didn't stay closer over the years, or even get married; that's been all the rage for the last few years." "Good question," her father said, "but that's life. We often do move on to new things, new people, instead of cherishing what we have and had. Usually this works out for the better, sometimes not. Forest and I lost touch in high school, but guess who got a delicious, delightful, and delectable pixie, sprite, wiseguy, darling in return?" "The dude who won the Powerball?" the girl asked. Her playful response startled both adult males, who suddenly realized they'd won an ethereal jackpot without even buying a ticket (this, a rough parallel to the Virgin's conception). They looked over her slim, athletic body into each other's eyes, nodding silently in thanks and affirmation. To think she cooked and cleaned, and, total boggle beyond human comprehension by half a billion light years, could, with encouragement, reproduce herself repeatedly. a loli preteen Oh, freaking, wow. loli underwear "Lo-ho-ho-ho-zer," Harry laughed, imitating Jim Carey, "he'd have given the prize to have driven over here with you." "And I wouldn't have taken it," the sweetie laughed, "unless I ended up here, with you and Forest." "You may not turn out to be a great businesswoman," Forest said. "I know I'm too young to make these decisions for myself," the girl responded, "but my idea would be to have six or eight kids with the two of you, and let one of them be the tycoon." Again the adults looked across the child at each other. What would be wrong with that? In ten-thousand years, what would be wrong with that? In every aspect, from buckling the kids' boots, to gross income, to the death or disability of any of them, three would be better than two. From getting her pregnant, to surviving her, three would beat a pair. William F. Buckley, Jr., the sailor, makes quite an issue of three forming a gang of two, with the third ostracized. No problem, after the separation, there'd still be a partnership to carry on, perhaps stronger for the omission, as Anne was surely a more ardent and active lover, having rid herself of me. (Something the Cruise family may get to experience again as these huge battlewagon novels blast their way into public consciousness. They'll be able, once again, to relive excluding me the first time. Talk about an enduring wedding present, a gift that keeps on giving.) "Unfortunately," Harry replied to his daughter, "a cat drinks by curling its tongue to the rear, when you'd bet a thousand dollars on the common sense supposition that it drinks curling it forward. So common sense does not fit all scenarios, which is a good thing, or everyone would fall off Australia, but is a bad thing when it comes to sane familial relationships. A no-touchy daddy can abuse and neglect his daughter a hundred legal ways until she ends up a frosted-haired, silver-nailed hireling of the Dairy Queen empire, while a reading, traveling, hiking, boating, baseball loving, super dad can go to jail for years off a single shower." "Isn't the system now proven so defective that people just pretty well ignore it; you know, play the game a little, pay lip service, and do what they want?" "Yes," Forest answered the girl, lolicon teen links "but there's still the danger of someone making a case because they don't like you, when they'd accept three times what you're doing from someone they happened to like, and you don't have to be convicted of anything to run up a hundred grand in legal fees, or lose your job or your friends." "Then it might be a good idea to make some new friends," the girl said, raising her face to the handsome new man in her life for a kiss. "It is a matter of drawing lines," Harry continued, "and it's always the cheap, easy shot to be an iconoclast or disenfranchised nihilist, wearing a chip the size of Africa on your shoulder. At the same time, the system can't exactly come to a stop to draw up a scheme for every couple, threesome, foursome, or group who think they have found the answer to communal, extended-family living. It's not that society won't do it, or doesn't want to do it, but more that society can't do it, but it can do better, much better, just by backing off arbitrary, mindless negative involvement, which is usually involvement for its own sake, not to help somebody or keep a truly dangerous criminal off the streets. Playing the game. Going through the motions. The only good thing that ever comes of it is that out of the hundreds of girls traumatized ten times more by the system than the perpetrator, or rapist, some will become so dysfunctional they end up in the psychic court of last resort, which happens to be the lending library. Out of these hundreds, or thousands, we'll end up, twenty years down the road, with a few pretty fair writers. Otherwise, the picture is entirely negative. Everyone involved in it starts by going though the buzz saw. How much they lose depends on a variety of factors, but it's a pretty safe bet that everyone losses something. And the oddest thing about it is if you're hillbilly overt, and drag your stiff-legged, dirty-legged, dirty-haired, half-starved daughter around town, tummy bulging, no official will lift a finger or say a word. Meantime, let you or I or any respectable person be the subject of the slightest rumor or hint that something's going on, and we'll be in the cop shop `till dawn." "And I was going to shine so for Show-and-Tell on Monday," the smashing girl sighed, mopping her hand across her brow with enough drama to paralyze her entire audience with a fear of starting to laugh and not being able to stop until Monday, in short, in not sharing with her anything TO tell. They lay together, breathing softly, for some time. "Darling," Harry finally said to her, "I have what may be a really bad idea, but I want to tell you about it, anyway, okay?" "As long as it has nothing to do with leaving," the girl said. "It's about a hundred times more complicated than that," the man said, "which is why I keep going over it, and why I think it might be right up your alley." "What is it?" the ten year old asked. lolit ilegal "What if you lost your virginity with someone besides one of us?" Harry said. "Just went out on your own, and came back here, assuming you wanted to, later tonight, or even in the morning?" "Oh, Dad, wow," the girl whispered. "What do you think, Forest?" he then asked. "Lying here for who knows how long, drawing pictures in our minds of who she's with, and how she's responding to them, you mean?" he asked, "instead of cumming with her, ourselves? For sure, it would be nothing we'd ever forget," he had to acknowledge. "Don't you think it might be sort of a symbol of permanence," Harry said, nod doggedly, but wishing to pursue the idea, "that one night, amongst the three of us, means little or nothing, because it's the next night little kids loli sexy that's important, and the next. If we have to work, or travel, or attend to any number and variety of affairs, they come first, and our sleeping together is always secondary to the overall vitality of the relationship." "I don't know," Forest mused, "if I were a novelist I might stick something like that in as a plot thickener or word-count extender; but how it would work out in real life? Hmm?" "Is that a Yes?" the girl whispered. "Do you want it to be?" her dad asked. "It would give us something to talk about on the drive back home," the girl observed, "and I love both of you so much, a week with Brad Pitt wouldn't make the slightest difference in how I feel." "We're taking you pretty far afield," Harry said, "first the business problem, or former problem, at the core of our being together, then your being with Vargas Real for two or three hours, tomorrow, and now dispatching you to find your first lover. It might be a good idea to buy you a puppy on the way home, so you will have something to talk about in class on Monday." "If I were the tactician," Tina responded, "I'd buy the girl a Glock, because even telling about that, much less showing it, would gum up every officious psyche for a hundred miles, and, with that lot down for the count, we could get away with me turning up pregnant in seventh grade and no one would stop ducking long enough lolicon stories free to notice." "She has a point," both males nodded in affirmation, without having to articulate the words, but, nah, it was a stretch: not feasible, even if by a tantalizingly small a margin. Some busybody would be sure to give a heads-up, and, while the level of obesity was beyond extreme, a slim face along with slim limbs and a big belly could hardly help but let the cat out of the bag. Of course, maybe the pixie was just trying to be funny, to ease the atmosphere in light of the cross currents that were bound to be part of a child's transition from dolls to dicks, and to be sure everyone got the most out of the resort over the upcoming weekend. It all bore much pondering and consideration. Fortunately, a methodical, one-step-at-a-time approach suited the temperament of each member of the threesome, a fact which undoubtedly had much to do with their being a threesome, in the first place. They talked in whispers, fondling the young female, passing her lithe, athletic body between themselves, wrestling with each other and the pixie, pretending to eat her toes and fingers, as if she were a child, and indulging in a little bit of brief tickling. They licked here her, kissed her there, and caressed her everywhere. The liked her, loved her, adored her, and came back for more. The ten year old was open with her tongue and hands, learning quickly this and even faster picking up that, only avoiding deliberate touching of their swollen uncircumcised penises, in the manner of a mature child with the good upbringing and good manners to save the best for last. hentai top movie lolicon Both males thrust gently against her slim, white body, masturbating themselves and each other against the particularly spicy flesh high on her inner thighs, gasping and tensing with urgency, before backing away to toy with her in less fulsome ways. Neither did they kiss her on the lips, instinctively realizing this would be something she would want to save for another day and a boy close to her own age. Violating all the rules, they nonetheless set their own rigid standards of behavior, decency, and morality as inviolable and absolute as the stoning, chopping, burning, and drowning priorities of a rural Muslim village. Much of little girl loli the time the males lay nose to nose, their cheeks low on her smooth, white belly, their hands fondling her between her long slender legs, as they tried to come to grips with what it would be like to ravish her orally, in turn, sharing, tongue to tongue, the salty seed of a third, strange, adult male. This left them on the horns of a dilemma, because both wanted to, a, finger her, newly wet, and, b, experience the salty sperm of her first true lover, while, c, never in a hundred years ending what was now going on between the three of them. The state of perfect equilibrium lasted most of an hour. At the end of this time, the sensitive and alert child noted a rising level of urgency in her male companions, and was bright enough to interpret it as corresponding with a rising level of discomfort. At ten, she'd heard a thing or two in school, and realized matters would only get worse unless she took an active role in making them better. But how? She liked the idea of returning to the pool area, half a wildfire, for a mount that was free of incestuous taint. After all, that was as innocent as she'd ever be from this moment on, but, before it happened, before she walked hand in hand in her conservative little two piece bathing suit off with a handsome male to another bungalow, she owed an overwhelming debt of gratitude to her father and Forest for not treating her like some little bubble-headed, nail-polishing mirror queen. Two phrases ran through her mind: `jerking off' and. `blow-job'. The boys used them more than the girls, but that was natural enough when she looked at her father and her honorary uncle, for they were more than girls. Could she interpret them on her own? Neither her dad nor Forest was anything to do with any kind of jerk that she'd ever heard of, and the process of elimination also precluded their going off. Where? Why? When? Nor could she exactly see exchanging blows with them, or them with each other, whether they were on the job, or at home. So, it must be some kind of slang or vernacular of the street. If she used her hands on one of their hugely swollen and rock hard penises, wouldn't she be jerking on? Surely it wouldn't come off, that would obviously be fatal, and catastrophically messy -- out of the question. But men certainly had to do something physical to get girls pregnant, so maybe some part or some thing did come off. If you pounded on them? Creepsy must, they looked so sensitive, how could blows, or even one blow, do anything but hurt? Of course, she could ask, achieve empowerment through a meaningful dialogue and resolve issues as a byproduct of loli ta tgp scads of quality time, which could hardly help but further the bonding process. Girl thoughts. The boys were thinking, too. Yes, they were pleased, who wouldn't have been? She was a delight, a fancy tickler par excellence, a smoldering, smoking, sensation multiplying senses and sensibilities, not by X, but by sex; squaring heaven, cubing earth; the sun, the clouds, the rains, the rivers, the oceans, the seas; the forests, the plains, the woods and trees; all birds; all bees. Not, by any means, a roll in the hay, a trifle, a plaything, a trinket, a toy. She was a total major-league bash, a heavenly smash, the opposite of a market crash, a Caddy, not a Nash, and worth a ton of cash. Porking her in situ, whatever transient pleasures it might offer, whatever relief, and for relief they were all but howling, might have been tempting, but Harry and Forest weren't those kinds of guys. In the lobby, on an easel, they'd seen, and, distracted, hardly noticed, a poster announcing: Kid Carlson, King of the Clarinet, and Kids of the King. A dance. Good clean fun. Convention. And what really did it for the doting father was the mental image of his absolute cutie pie in high heels and stockings. "Sweetie," he said, "how's about you run in and take a shower for a few minutes while I talk to your uncle Forest?" Ah, there's a little break. She doesn't have to undress or anything, so just grins, kisses her menfolk, and we see her slim frame headed across the carpeting of the suite, and, in a few moments the hiss of the shower head and clunk of the heavy glass door. There is a difference in not smoking pot, but I'm trying to figure out what it is. For sure, the word count's taken a nose dive, but yesterday I cleaned the refrigerator, washed walls, and caught up with domestic stuff. Samantha was here for much of the day, and I think I was able to focus on and review out status perhaps more incisively than when I'm all gone way out stoned on weed, or whatever one does on the stuff, or, in my case, doesn't do. The clearest difference is in the field of dreams. I noted that in June, also pot free. Much shorter, sharper, clearer, and more memorable dreams. Just now I was, in dreamland, visiting some kind of institution on the west coast in my old VW 411. When I returned to the car I found the rear deck open (where the engine is) and a note that I needed something electrical done, along with signs of a minor fire. Then, along illegal loli cp comes John Goodman, from "Rosanne" to help fix whatever electrical problem there is. Very uninteresting, but sharp as a tack, and, since the car I had was yellow, and the car in the dream was yellow, that answers the question about dreaming in monochrome, which some people say is most common. I'll have to see about the word-count thing. I do take days off from time to time, a day off being defined as under three-thousand words, even as a dope fiend, so it may take awhile to generate usable statistics, by which time the money will be in, the ganja supply resorted, and things restored to abnormal. Also, the domestic agenda. Am I going to suddenly start painting the place, or chopping my own property? I actually like not smoking, not having to waste time opening packs, lighting cigarettes, and emptying ashtrays. I see on television about cravings, but feel them only in respect to Samantha. I smoke because I like the flavor of tobacco, and the fact it serves as a reward which is free of calories. Pot is about the same. I don't miss it when I don't have it, wouldn't spend more than three dollars a day for it, but find, all things being equal, it does vastly extend my work day. Delton finally showed up with his arm almost back to normal, so there's one good deed that apparently paid off. If my luck is in he'll stop by this (Sunday) morning and I'll be able to dispatch him to Malcolm Dale's to get a carton of cigarettes (pronounced, locally, cartoon, which you quickly get used to) and ten ball-ups, which are dollar lots of marijuana wrapped in foil. Stupid. They used to be wrapped in brown paper, which, if you flicked them away at night, were hard for the Babylon (police) to see in the dark. As I wrote this, Queenie showed up, so the mission goes to Daisy who needs to get to Belize City to visit Junior, who's in jail, and, as about the nicest kid I ever met in my life - very much the reason I help them, in the first place. (If I ever do get put away for inappropriate attention to Samantha, or possession, I'll have more friends inside, than I do outside.) So, I'm cleaning and sober, the house is a freaking masterpiece of domestic focus, and I seem to be rattling away about the same as ever. It occurs to me, even after all these years, I still have something extraordinary in common with Anne Whatever Her Name is Now, nee, Fairchild. We both would agree she's the world's stupidest woman. She, for ever having dated, loved, or marrying me, me, for her having divorced a wealthy, funny, attractive, committed artist and husband over huffs and puffs of nothing. Terrific guy that I am in so many respects, I send her brother copies of my work so he can forward them to her, ha-ha, so she'll know how right she was all along. Steve McQueen offered Ali McGraw a million dollars to come back to him, and I'll bet my former wife and princess of herself wouldn't have me gift-wrapped in a billion. Women are big on decisions like that. Stupid, but big. Oddly enough, if she was any semblance of her former self, and wanted to paint, fucking-eh seriously, I'd take her back, though not at the cost of Samantha. Here's one for the book. Smoking stains the teeth, right? I don't have a mirror in my room, or bathroom, knowing I'm about as cute as they come at my age, and having moved the dresser, with mirror, into Linden's room, when he was here. So I was a little horrified to find my choppers pretty badly stained. Out of idle curiosity, and inspired by a young girlfriend, I experimented with scraping my teeth with the blade of a craft knife. Believe it or not, it worked beautifully, and in ten minutes all trace of staining, which, in my case, would be tea and tobacco, were gone. My guess is four-ought steel wool might work, too. Also in the believe it or not category, is the fact that Samantha brushes her teeth with Colgate and Clorox, straight from the bottle. I've never heard of that, and do wonder about the long-term effect, although, for sure, her smile is dazzling at the moment. Speaking of clean, haven't we wandered off and left someone in the shower? lolit illegal porn "What hath god wrought?" If memory serves, those are the first words transmitted over the transatlantic cable. "What hath the salon wrought?" Harry and Forest breathed in stunned admiration as Tina emerged from The Play Pen's youth-oriented House of Mischievous Miracles . Hair high, shoulders bare, legs forever from under the hem of little black dress to her first pair of heels, eyes huge do to the touch of Panda Bear Pete, former makeup artist behind bars, a pearl choker -- I knew good and damn well my haberdashic ignorance was going to one day stifle me as a novelist -- against the ivory white of her flat chest; this bracelet, those earrings, the other bauble, that accent, adding, in a radiating symphony, to the tall, simple, brown-haired, brown-eyed elegance that needed freaking squat to stop the show. She walked, tripping a mesmerizing version of the light fantastic in her new pumps (I hope), between the tall males in their bib and tucker, moon above, quiet lighting along the pathway below, setting their step to the music flowing from the auditorium, half kids going to a sock hop, half adults attending a state occasion. Lots of everything for everybody, and, and I'm not bragging here, as fine a send-off for a long legged tomboy virgin as any proud poppa could dream, fantasize, or imagine, at least on this planet. As I've said before, though no walk in the park, write enough long novels, and you to catch the occasional break. In this case, it's Queenie and Samantha going off to spend the morning together, after dancing punta together in my west bedroom window. Not quite a proud poppa watching them shine on each other, their contrasting beauties adding a healthy ten percent to one plus one. Risky business, of course, because as far as I know, they could be heading to Louise's boyfriend's house, who might have a friend... And, if they didn't have garden lights and music wafting onto the evening air little cuties loli from bbs loli gallery list the auditorium, they didn't need it. What a freaking pair. To try to guide them into more aggression in the housekeeping department, so their relationships will last, when I'm outta here, and be friend to both, and lover to one, is a down-home version of the million-pager. It's freaking music that one enhances the other, working from the dynamic duo to the novel, not vice versa, because they have no idea I'm even a writer, just that I'm always home, typing. They have no concept of myself as artist, and I'll bet in the whole of the coming year, they never once ask for an autograph. I try to impress in other ways. While they were gone, three hours, I cut my hair, kneaded ten pounds of tortilla dough, whipped up a tub of spicy chili and onion rice, cleaned the house, left the kitchen immaculate, entertained and fed Delton and Simpson, and wrote a thousand words. Guess I've earned a cup of tea. More than, it turns out, for Samantha and Randy just arrived. He's eating my rice with banana, says it's great. More than. Dancing anyone? Tina wore a lily on her left wrist. Guess what it signified. Every male of the hundred or more knew. Every eye of the two hundred or more, the number actually odd because of a lean, Nordic athlete wearing a black patch, flashed hard and lingered a long moment. Not a murmur from the thirty something females. Guess what that signified. Tina's eyes wide from, believe it or not, a touch of belladonna (proving I know at least something of my craft), saw everything as a hazy blur of color and shape. She squeezed the arms of her very lucky seeing-eye dogs, and they guided her through the reception line, where Vargas plucked her like a prize rose and swept her off to the orchestra's lilting accompaniment. Formalities over, Harry and Forest were escorted to a floorside table, and, alcohol denied as ludicrous overkill, served a house punch consisting of equal parts grape juice and ginger ale, to which had been added an additional ten percent of strong tea. At The Play loli porn bbs Pen (yes, you loyal readers, a wholly-owned subsidiary of The Plunkett Group) even the punch was otherworldly. It was a dance, was a dance, was a dance. A nicer-country club ambience, with two notable exceptions. The men weren't all outrageously young, and three were easily in their fifties, but there was not one single extra pound in a dozen, and, topless loli models the girls were young, with Tina approximately of a middle age. Five of the girls wore blue pansies on their left wrists, so there'd be no surprises in the bridal suits. Everyone knew lolicon image boards what blue signified. Can you guess? Six virgins, Tina in the middle, one wearing a becoming combination of blue and white. They whirled to asian nude loli the music, colors flying, fit males panting, lithe girls laughing, the Kids of the King not averse to a little raggae and rap in their mix. Sometimes the serendipity thing really has some kick. Samantha's dancing to Lucky Dube "This Choice I Made", with Randy setting at my left shoulder clapping time. You know those balls with all the little mirrors? Who needs one? Now Kira has her own chair to dance in as she looks west to the mountains, a sight lost on her because Randy's taken her plastic flute. Now she's pointing at something, the setting sun playing through her hair, and me thinking black thoughts about Linden for thieving the camera. In fantasy land the band played on. Fathers and daughters. Big brothers and little sisters, uncles and nieces or nephews, odd couples, four and five footers mismatched with men for the most part six feet and over They did the bunny hop, a ten-minute twist mix, Bee-Gee greats, and The Kids could more than half play Abba's "Nina Pretty Ballerina". kiddy porn pics loli Midnight came, and it was not without trepidation that the males watched the fateful clock, for surely at least some of these girls must turn to pumpkins. Nymphs they were, however, and nymphs they remained. The orchestra slowed its pace, reprising Righteous Brothers and Elvis standards. Over the next hour a pecking order slowly evolved, a circle of four or five males circling each virgin, with one or two attaching themselves to each of the girls with a red or blue flower. Less time on the floor, more huddled at the tables, by consensus a loyalty bond building so that for the last half-hour each pair or group remained intact. A final waltz extended into the darkness of guttering candles and an energy level quite out of place at the end of a long evening. While the Plunkett enterprise was perhaps light on bowing and scraping servitude, it was nonetheless run with a weather eye for showmanship. The male or alpha male of the evening with each girl ordered the bower of his choice, leading the female and her attendent males, if any, to their individual creation. There were sailor motifs, summer camp motifs, along with their scouting cousins, and a variety of scenarios from a simulated coal mine to a radio broadcast booth. Half were novel, the other half variations of the standard honeymoon suite. Tina had nodded at Gregg Killington, a tall, rangy Japanese American an hour earlier, and his if-I'm-a-winner choice had been neatly executed by the competent staff of the resort. His bungalow had been re-decorated as an Oriental tea room, lolia girls and Harry and Forest nodded to their host as they entered the mild and lovely room. Gregg bad his guests change, asking, as was his prerogative, Tina to remain in her black sheath rather than donning the traditional silks of Asia. As he taught his bride of the evening the rudiments of the tea ceremony, the ten year old's father and honorary uncle emerged from the bathroom and bedroom of the suite, along with two sailors, Cliff and Dennis, both boyish ensigns in the Australian navy. At Gregg's nod, they knelt at the table as their host helped Tina, his left arms gently around her slim waist, pour each porcelain cup. Harry, in turn, nodded at the delicate beauty of a former farmhand and tomboy, and the girl allowed Gregg to bring her delicate face to his loli baby porn photo for their first welcoming kiss. Quickly, it was back to the tea, and all six sat knowing there was no place saner nor more likely to be happy than the place they were. From here on, the play was in Tina's hands. As Gregg's touches became more intimate the girl nodded at the males kneeling around the table, then at the bedroom. This was typical, but it was also possible for a girl to be alone with her lover, if she wished, either to return to them, or spend the night behind a closed door while the males satisfied themselves and each other as they fantasized about the couple in the adjoining bedroom. The males stood, each huge against the silk of his robe, and the girl led Gregg through the paper door. She placed her father and Forest a foot and a half from the waist of the low bed, with the two Australians at her feet. She and porn loli Gregg left the bedroom, returning in a moment as if coming home from an evening out. The tall male carried the girl across the threshold and placed her on the seat at the dresser, kissing her hair and unclipping her pearl necklace. "I hade a beautiful evening, darling," the lolits blog girl said, playing her role quietly, "do you want to go check the girls before you unzip me?" "You were the princess of the ball," the handsome young husband said into her hair, leaving Tina for a few moments. The girl caught her dad's eye in the mirror and beamed a shy smile of thanks. They might someday coin a term, "Playpen Brave", for the look he gave her back. It was illegal, immoral, and thoroughly indecent, and it beat the average back seat by about ten million miles, so there was nothing downcast in his countenance, rather, intellect being what it is, just courage greatly enhanced by the beauty and grace of the tableau which played slowly on the young adult's return from checking on the couple's sleeping daughters. top100 loli bbs I've used this line before, but developments seem to favor using it again. Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the novel... Who should arrive but Queenie's notorious thirteen year old cousin. A very bad girl, from illegal young loli many reports. A tall, slim total wildcat, willowy and flat chested as a child, but with the look of several women. Noah was very curt. He's from a church group in Indiana which has handled the adoption of three of Daisy's kids. We `met' under strained circumstances, longish story, when I was evicting Shirley, Rhageedha's mother, for laziness below and beneath any call of duty. He showed up with a stove and gas tank, after I'd asked her to leave several times (she had a perfectly good place to go), and I finally had to blow my stack. Interesting variant on Christianity, which one assumes he espouses. I've probably spent four thousand dollars, one thing and another, keeping Daisy, four kids, and five dogs not only off the street, where they were headed, but fed, clothed, booked and in school; cooking, cleaning, and supervising homework to the tune of some hundreds of hours, without so much as hinting at anything illicit with any of them. One would think that might merit a nod of respect and a civil hello, instead of an `uh'. Alex, my landlord, is a former YMCA officer, diplomat, and lay clergyman; I've been perfectly frank with him about what I believe and write, and he doesn't seem to mind. Detective writers don't kill (except Agatha Christie, who apparently tried once), and science fiction writers don't fly rockets. Airline pilots and deep-sea divers very rarely write successful stories of flying and underwater drama, and so on. Being a novelist is being an artist, and there is no more connection than there is with a real sunflower and one rendered at the hand of Vincent Van Gogh. In fact, he got it about right, because there is no less connection, either. So the uptight moralizing preacher, or, maybe he was just tired at the end of a long day, and the shoot with both hips thirteen-year-old, wicked as they come, all playing out in real time. By the way, since we've got enough pots boiling to stand back from the stove for a moment, I mentioned cutting my own hair. I've been doing this for thirty-odd years, have been to a barber three times in as many decades. While I was out shopping with Jose one time, I found a neat little two-piece comb gizmo that holds two razor blades. I think I made a mistake, once, but otherwise get slick razor cuts that last for two or three months, where a trim at the barber seems to last about as many days. Several people here have asked who my `stylist' was -- sorry -- and I tried to cut Linden's hair once, with zero success, so it's an idiosyncratic thing. The handle on my beloved comb device broke today, but it's just as lolicon 3d cg effective without it, so should last a few more years. Actually, the biggest challenge is to avoid nicking yourself on the razors while you work, especially, your ears. I've trimmed with a Bic razor, but it takes three times longer. I don't even need a mirror, which brings up an interesting story I saw at three in the morning on CNN. It was a feature on blind barbers in India. Super idea. That's the kind of excellent thinking shown once, and never repeated so that we may learn more about Israel. Interesting thought concerning Girl X, my new tenant. If she's as promiscuous as legend has it, why is she not more developed? My sister was active with my brother from the age of eight or nine, and she matured very early and fully. Audrey, of "Stonington Stories", was active with her older brother, and she also developed when she was eleven or so. Then again, the girl in red, because I was just downstairs, may have aids. Bad answer. Shook hands with Noah, seems very nice. We should be friends, or something, having more than a bit in common, but it's a strangish world here at the brink of the rain forest. Why, I do believe, people have written books about it. Anyway, a child lolitta great Sunday, and fitting payoff to hundreds of lesser namesakes. I think it should be abolished; the loneliness and treading water much more damaging than anything to do with the church is beneficial. Her name is Kara, and she is wild looking as tigers. Totally intriguing. Just what Samantha and Queenie need for a little playmate. I should reference here, that Sim managed crediting me some weed. Wow, in debt to my drug habit. Five dollars. Will I make it through the crises? I mention it, apropos of I know not what, because I think it makes no difference in my work, whatever. The time I'll know is at two tomorrow morning, when I'm passing the ten thousand word mark after a long day of domestic activity. I try to expound on this, because of the staggering statistics and fiscal and psychological cost to the nation, but find it difficult, because there is so little to say. I think a good analogy is as follows: Getting stoned while flying a light aircraft under VFR conditions would probably make you a slightly better pilot. The key here is that pot makes you more attentive to what you know. You'd be more attuned to your check list, to balance your fuel load, to waypoints and radio changes. On the other hand, flying in instruments might not be a good idea. Because you are more attentive to what you know, you tend to block new, unfamiliar information. A good pilot, flying familiar instrument procedures, would probably execute with more precision and forethought, but an amateur, bombarded with strange situations, a specific example would be back-course holding after a missed-approach, might be less capable than a stone sober pilot of equal talent and experience. I can give another specific example, this time something that happened to me, personally. I was driving from once house to another in Concord. Margaret Alcock, a magna cum laude graduate loli gallaries of B.U., and long-time girlfriend, was with me. We got half a minute or so into our trip and she started laughing. I had the wipers on, and it wasn't raining. Again, this was a byproduct of being attentive; I was listening to her, and at the time it just didn't seem very important whether the wipers were on, or not. That would be an extreme reaction to smoking marijuana. Having said that, I should also note that I think many things to do with the computer might be difficult to accomplish with a buzz on. On the other hand, if you were checking code you'd already written, it might, again, by making you more attentive, help you find a bug. In temporary summary, "Consumer Reports", hands-down the most fastidious possible mass-market publication, gave marijuana all green lights, pointing out the ripping bias of publications such as "The Reader's Digest." I have a specific memory along this line. A radio column by Paul Harvey who claimed pot lolia jpeg was five times more lethal than cigarettes because the smokers held the gasses in their lungs for an extended period of time. He neglected to say that a healthy pot smokers consumes one, perhaps two `cigarettes' a day, and that there has never been the remotest link between marijuana and lung disease of any kind. Jamaicans are born and bred on it, with zero impact, aside from the political machinery which harasses and entangles them. I acknowledge the home-wrecking impact, but its source is the high cost of the product, not its narcotic affect which is akin to coffee, and about one percent of amyl nitrate, poppers, which are sold legally in many locations, even Dubuque. My solution is to have distribution State controlled, with the handicapped handling the merchandise to the greatest extent possible. That it cost ten dollars for ten joints, and that there be some form of rationing similar for that used for strategic products in wartime. I wasted away my youth reading, and offer it as an alternative, while pointing out that down time is down time, and in excess breeds its own very obvious results. Her name is Kayla. She personifies the pedophiles dream, tall, sleek, and as flat chested as a boy, and wearing a training bra. Her eyes and especially her nose are East Indian, very dramatic, and she has an exaggerated African lower lip that is worth the price of the ticket of and by itself. She seems very mild, attentive and friendly. Let me give you an example of `attentive'. One burner on my stove puts out too much heat to cook tortillas. When I showed her this, she actually bent over and looked, asking me to adjust the flame twice. The same scenario with Samantha or Queenie would result in a `yeah-yeah' from the bedroom, where the stereo is. Nice to know there's one girl here who actually might not burn down the place. lolia porn movies As mentioned, Dangriga is a thin crescent on the verge of a trackless wilderness, so the local idea of a vixen might be as mild tempered and graceful as the prototypical girl-next-door, what with jaguars to set the standard. She and Samantha seem made for each other, so, chances are, I'll retire happily to my fantasy world, hands to myself, watch the sacred word-count soar (as I said, hands to myself), and try, from time to time, to remember I'm in the second act of my seventh freaking novel. Given a choice, would I treat them all as daughters; never an impure thought? Get real, but the answer is pretty mild thoughts, and thoughts, only. But there is no chance. In the first place, I'm due for somebody, and, while I'm not legally a king needing an heir for his throne, there is that nagging million plus Belize dollars which have to go to somebody. In the second place, this is no playground for young girls. The aids rate is high and getting higher, plus the whole list of other STDs. Alternative relationships may be illegal and immoral, but traditional ones are outright deadly. I am for starting a restricted sex club as a practical scheme simply because the religious approach tends to be easily-forgotten theory, and is only applicable to a small percentage of especially devoted, which always means wealthy, families. Yes, a strict church-girl upbringing provides a good chance of physical and moral purity until marriage. Yes, vast numbers of girls do not get a church-girl upbringing. Yes, lolicon movie forum download yes, yes, the second act. "Tina, sweetie," Gregg whispered as he undid the clasp on the little black dress, "Gracie's on top fuck loli tgp of the blanket, and she didn't wear her top." "That's the third time, darling," the girl replied, her voice low and husky as she fell into her improv, "so I don't think you have to torment yourself in regards to your daughter's feelings about you." "I shouldn't be having the feelings I do, darling," the adult whispered as he took town the child's auburn tresses, "I love you so much I'd never want anything to even be a hiccup in what we have with each other." "I love you, too," Tina said, "but remember, I was a nine year old with a cute dad, too, and I thought he was the living end, and the day I noticed I was starting to develop, the first thing of all was I wanted to show him. And, guess what, you happened to be a drop-dead dad. I'd worry about her if she wasn't attracted to you, and if you weren't attracted by her, I'd start asking for recommendations of mental health experts." "I keep thinking, `How can you be lolisex models just a wife,'" Gregg whispered, "you're so much more. Ward Cleaver or Mike Brady wouldn't know what to do with you." "Well," the girl responded, "Al Bundy would keep me in shoes, and Tim Allen would keep my toaster working, so there are useful references, too." "Still," the man said, his voice again serious, " do preteen loli nonude you think your daughter is old enough to be flirting as much as she does?" "Yes, darling," the girl said, "and, since the subjects has reared its beautiful head, I'm going to tell you that when I was nine loli russian bbs I did more than flirt with my dad; more than just show him my little pansy-size nipples. If Gracie has the same feelings as I, and I'm sure she not only has them, but has had them for the last few months, and will continue to have them well into the future, I want her to have the same extreme and rare privilege I had, and that was learning with a man I both respected and adored. If you think you can buy your daughter, and Pammy, when she's a couple of years older, one stitch more, for any amount of money, then you have a world of shopping ahead of you." lolitta nude underage "Oh, darling," the young man whispered as he leaned over her slim body, pulling down the zipper on her dress, kissing her shoulder the instant they were naked. "Was he gentle with you?" "Beautifully gentle," Tina replied, standing slowly, so her husband could undo her training bra, "just as you'll be with your Gracie." "Oh, baby," the man whispered into her neck, her dress falling to the floor. "Let me tell you, darling," the girl whispered over her right shoulder as the man's gentle hands found her tender, white belly, "I don't want it to be any kind of secret and I only waited because I wanted to be sure of Gracie." "If you want to keep it private, that's okay," Gregg whispered, "as long as you're with me, the past means nothing." "I don't," Tina said, "just the opposite. I want to share every moment with you, one-third for you, and another third so I can relive what happened that first time in your hands and on your bed, and the final third, so you can teach Gracie the same way Daddy taught me, and Pammy as soon as she's interested." "I'm very lucky you picked me at the dance tonight," Gregg whispered. "I'm very lucky to have such a father," the girl whispered back, "Daddy." "Oh, angel," he murmured, "teach me." "Yes, love," the ten year old responded. "We were playing marbles. It was a rainy day, and I invited him up to the attic to play on the carpet, with a circle, instead of a pot." "What were you wearing, darling?" the new father asked. "A sweat shirt and jeans," the girl said, turning to unbutton the silk robe of the male standing close behind her, "I didn't want him to get suspicious. Naturally, it was a little hot in the attic, so that gave me a chance to take them off without spooking him. But that was after we'd been playing for awhile." Now, they weren't there to play childish games, "Play Pen" though it might have been called. Management was serious in providing alternative vectors for long-term loving relationships, with a healthy dash of wanton carnality thrown in on the theory that, whether he saw it or not, the knowledge that a father's daughter or a brother's kid sister bucking frantically in the strong arms of an athletic young male, and the girl's returning flushed, throbbing and soaking wet to her alpha male, was an aphrodisiac of lasting quality that could not help but make a good relationship significantly better, so, no, marbles were not provided. There was however, tinfoil, and, improvising, Gregg and Tina were able to enact a simulated game of marbles with balls of the loli yong foil. It was perhaps a bit like playing pool on a golf green, but the game, itself, was of secondary importance. Pretend. Tina, in her tiny bra and panties rolled her ersatz marble toward a sheet of notepaper. Gregg, naked, his distended penis jutting almost seven inches down from his waist, took his turn. "Show me how you hold it, Daddy," the girl said in a soft, husky voice after they'd played a few minutes. She sidled next to the tall athletic Japanese American male. There may be different grips for golf clubs and tennis rackets, and if there aren't, billions are being wasted each year on false lore, but, in marbles, there is only one. The father should have been suspicious, but he was a good man, so he brought his daughter gently beneath him so as to take her right hand in his own. "Daddy, isn't it hot up here?" the girl asked. "Yes, darling, it is a little," Gregg role-played. "Daddy?" the girl said, her voice now very soft. "Yes, sweetheart?" the man said to the girl underneath his powerful chest. "Would you just die of embarrassment if I took off my sweatshirt?" "Are you wearing a blouse?" Gregg asked. "No, Daddy," Tina said, her voice now a whisper as she and her first lover played their game at the foot of the bed, their witnesses positioned for a good view, "but Mom bought me a bra yesterday, so I won't be bare chested." "You're growing up," the young man temporized, kissing the head under his chin. "Daddy," the girl responded, "we had a long lolicon galeries talk, and she said I could show it to you if I wanted to, and I do, Daddy, besides, it's hot up here, and I like playing with you, and I don't want to go back downstairs. Mom's visiting Granddad, so this is our chance to really be alone together. Please." "It's not to happen," the man whispered. "Daddy's aren't lolicon kids children nude meant to molest their girls," the girl acknowledged, "but I want you to look at me. Look the word up in the dictionary, but not now, it means bother, annoy, interfere with, or disturb. It also means attack, and who, I would ask you, Daddy, is attacking who?" She didn't bite him hard, but she did bite him, growling softly. "Your mom really said that?" Gregg asked, nicely catching a tone half way bemusement and wonder. "She knows how I feel about you," the girl replied, "and she thinks it's dead cute. `A great way to keep you very happy and very at home,' to quote her." "Darling, I would love to see you," the male rasped, letting the child from under him so she could mime pulling a heavy shirt over her head and kneel in from of him, as he knelt close in from of her. "Take yours off, too, Daddy, so I won't be embarrassed," the girl said. Gregg copied her charade. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered, "you're beautiful." "Baby," the man whispered softly, as her hands found his, guiding him to her face, then down her slim neck, finally leaving him (calling off the attack) to find his face, his neck, and his powerful shoulders. "Daddy," the girl said softly, "take me to my bed." "I love you very much, my darling daughter," the man said, rising, picking up the seventy pound child, and lying her on the nearby bed as her father and the other males moved to their original positions, but now kneeling adjacent the low Asian sleeping mat. Tina laced her fingers behind her neck and arched in display, her long, slim legs demurely together. Gregg knelt at her right side, looking down into her huge brown eyes. "It won't interfere with Mom," the girl whispered to her stag, "that's the biggest danger of incest. A daughter coming between husband wife with her youth. Corrupting the marriage with secrecy, manipulation, and a private agenda." "Will you share out bed?" the man asked. "Yes, Daddy," the child said, "and here is a secret, she wants another baby as soon as possible, so I get to hold you both while it's happening. Pretty sexy, eh?" "Incomprehensible," Gregg whispered in agreement, adding: "but what about you angel. I can see your nipples bulging against your bra, and last I knew I was a very potent male." "Mom's wild about the idea of the two of us being pregnant together," the ten year old answered, "but she says it's probably just a fantasy. The biggest secret of all is that I'm Granddad's baby, his child, so your gift of family love will be my child as soon as I'm mature enough to give her to you, safely, probably when I'm twelve years old, if we go to a special clinic in Switzerland." "I still have every feeling of incest with you," Gregg said, "you are as much more a daughter as you were more a wife." "And I know your seed will be rich with taboo and sin, Daddy," Tina said, "that a filthy wickedness will be mine when you whisper to me what you whisper to Mom." "I will tell you," Gregg promised, finally leaning to molest the child at his knees. He started at her heaving flanks, both his gentle hands covering the soft whiteness of her belly, then moving underage nudes loli down to the band of her tiny pink panties and pulling them down slightly in front. "Oh, love," he whispered, finding a silky trace of blond hair, "you're more mature than I thought." "Daddy," the girl responded, her voice tender and soft, "if it happens, the Group will give me RU-486, prorn loli but we'll be able to share it for a month. They're very practical about such things, feeling, on a one-time basis, the sacrifice of a salamander is an acceptable price to pay for a very special few weeks between a father and his growing girl." Gregg's gentle fondling moved from the girl's belly to her slim chest. His fingers slipped beneath her training bra as he stared into her eyes. "That feels beautiful," the child whispered up at him. "It feels nice to me, too," the young man said, "but, honestly, darling, I think I could mount your brown eyes on toothpicks and love you just as much as I do now." "Maybe tomorrow," the honey smiled, moving her tiny hands to her delicate chest and pulling up the wispy silk covering her rose-bud breasts. Gregg bent and found her with his mouth, her hands running through his athlete's trim, pulling him gently to her. He kissed and sucked for a long time, then his lips traveled at her bidding to her young mouth and she murmured welcome. "Gracie's old enough for this," she whispered, "just as I was with Dad." "Yes, darling," he said, somehow keeping up with the shift in stories, generations, motifs, relationships, preferences, attitudes, and secret hopes and forbidden desires. "Take everything off," she said, lifting her hips. The man's right hand left her tender young right nipple and slid slowly to her arching loins. He peeled her pink silk over her knees, and, as she gently kicked them free, he removed her bra. The instant her panties were clear, Tina spread her legs wide. Gregg straddled her right leg, coming to rest on his knees between her ten-year-old thighs. He dropped over her on his muscular forearms, and the girl brought her knees high on his now heaving and sweating flanks, her arms also encircling the powerful body poised above her own juvenile frame. Harry knelt at the couple's waist, and guided the man to his daughter. When the female felt it was right she whispered, "Yes," to Gregg, and, still in Harry's hand, he began thrusting against her wetness and her yielding softness. "I like your hand on me," Gregg whispered to Harry. Bisexuality was assumed, much like sanity, as a Play Pen imperative, but it was nice to be welcomed. Harry half mounted Gregg, continuing to guide the young adult as he thrust gently between their coupling bodies. Tina gazed up at her father in wonder, and her right hand gripped his sweating shoulder. "Oh, Dad," she whispered, "you're really letting him get inside me." "Are you okay?" he rasped in response. She nodded, smiling shyly, her hand squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. The father released her daughter's handsome young partner, and rose partially on his knees. Gregg sensed Harry's rapidly increasing tension and rose high on his arms. "He's going to cum on you," he said to the little girl. Forest held the girl's head so she was comfortable looking down between her body and Gregg's. Her father's big circumcised penis was rigid and almost motionless, circumcised, and pulsing hotly. "Yes, Daddy," the girl whispered, to grunts from both the males. "Daddy," she said, "Gregg's cuming inside me. Show me." "Yes, baby," he whispered and in moments he was beginning to wet her. "It's getting harder," she panted. "Yes, darling," the father said, his own ejaculation quickly becoming hard, fast, and uncontrollable. Forest and the sailors joined the couple, masturbating and ejaculating heavily over the child's bare chest and pretty face. As Gregg began shaking uncontrollably on his rigid arms, the Australians helped him gently from the girl, and Forest let the girl's head lie back on her pillow, and helped the panting, sweating Harry between his daughter's slick thighs. He fisted his friend into loli sex dolls her, sensing when the father was against his daughter's hymen. "Yes, Daddy," the girl hissed, lurching to him, the sailor's holding her widely spread legs. "Oh, love," the man whispered as he penetrated with a single stabbing thrust. Her eyes filled with tears which he immediately licked away. loli mpeg For a minute they remained tense and unmoving at the waist. Harry lowered himself fully on the child, wanting to look into her beautiful eyes, but unable to resist the sensation of her slick young chest and her swollen nipples against his own heaving, athletic chest. He kissed her, then rose again, because the child was avid in her gaze. Forest again raised her head, and the father proceeded to take his daughter with gentle, deliberate strokes, quickly mounting to his hilt, than setting a strong, fast rhythm and her slender arms gripped his flanks and her fingers raked his back. The sailors freed her long, slim legs and they circled his plunging thighs, pulling him as she, helped by her bedmates, lunged and bucked hard and fast in response. "Oh, yes," the girl moaned, as she truly lost her virginity and responded to what was happening inside her, happily letting the long wave curl slowly to the shelving beach, then hover in loving delight until it crashed, sending her into a full, howling seizure as her head lolled and her body turned to stone, then to jelly. Harry froze, fully mounted, welcoming his child back with gentle kisses, then, as she eased herself tentatively to her, found her exactly the young and avid athlete he'd brought her up to be, and again mastered her for ten minutes before a second stuttering wave of climaxes engulfed her, leaving her limp and ragged beneath him with barely energy to coo happily as he began cumming in her. Gregg invited Forest and the Australians to stay, and Harry nodded gratefully as he gathered his wet, naked child, and, slick with sperm, himself, carried her across the softly lit courtyard to their bungalow, where he made love to her through the long night. CHAPTER SIXTEEN Kayla night and Kayla day. Vixen of the dark to school girl of the light. Very nice, very sweet; hair done nicely, sans the red dress and training bra. A cute pet, but, alas, gone already as she was just here for the one night. I quizzed Queenie about her, wondering why the big reputation, and she said the girl liked to play too much. I can hear a sigh of about the density of a tornado from ten or twenty million American homes beset with surly, rebellious malcontents. What would a daughter that's too playful bring on the open market, to the nearest million? She'll be welcomed any time, on any basis; good kid. In the meantime, Queenie's cleaned up the kitchen twice in a row, which is, in the words of Pat Norton, on Tech TV, scary. Samantha spent two hours in bed with me, trying to convince me to go to the bank today, instead of waiting until mid-morning tomorrow, when my funds should be credit to my account. Very sweet, very, very funny, and living proof that cute is something you don't try to be. She was refused, although there one chance in four the money is there as it's sometimes sent on the fourteenth if the fifteenth falls on the weekend. It's nice to have something to talk about, and I believe you get maximum flavor from a chicken if you wait a month for it. Anyway, that was the major subject of conversation, which will give you some idea of life in poverty gulch. Chicken is a big deal. So I'm told, you can get a girl for half a bird. Elston and Tonton know every place in town that sells, them, where they come from, how they are packaged, who has fresh and frozen, and what they cost (about one-seventy-five, U.S., a pound). Big smiles at just the mention of the C-word. I think I'll try chicken a la king. It was, next to chow mein, the dread of the cafeteria menu for some fifteen years of my life, but, made with cream sauce, instead of institutional who-know-what and corn starch, it might pass. We aced out the month with plenty of everything except powdered creamer for the tea, so score a good grade on fuel management, the pilot's number one absolute responsibility. (Can't have too much or you'll bend the pipes that hold the wheels when you land.) Being a legend in one's own mind brings up the specter of cult status. While this is something I'd rather avoid, seeing what Edgar Cayce did to my teen bbs forum loli cousin Alec, it's not up for the god to determine how he is revered. In case it does happen, I have a couple of trivia items for the deepest of the most deeply imbued, moronic sods. A question could go: How does the unearthly one use his telephone. There are two answers, seeing as how I'm still offline in the hardwired sense. I use the base of the phone to prop the door of my bedroom/studio open just wide enough for the cats, but still closed to give me some privacy when the kids come up to make breakfast (if I've been working all young lolitta sex night and am sleeping) It's perfect size and easy to pick up. I use the handset to throw at the cats when they start scratching the linoleum under my bed, something that can go on for ten minutes as their infinitesimal brains try to cope with modern living. The cord allows me to retrieve the missile for a second shot. It worked so well that now I just have to growl and they scat. That's how I use my telephone. Kidding, if I was, aside, one of the rare privileges of living in an untrammeled society is being able to keep as many as eleven house lions. The vet bills, alone, in the States would run to the thousands of dollars, and here there are no vets. Add kitty litter and I could literally support a family on the cost of terra lolicon a few pets. Here the whole gang, now, I think, for one never knows for sure with an open-door policy, seven animals costs about two dollars a day, and yes, I tried using the copious supplies of natural sand around my house, but it just added to the mess, and my present system, while yielding of its highly unpleasant couple of minutes each day with spatula, cold, brown oatmeal, and plastic dish, is absolutely free, as well as inspiring spot-on housekeeping. In spite of their remarkable stupidity in some areas, the animals have picked the easiest and most convenient possible waste area, and if they hadn't, if they just went willy-nilly anywhere, anytime, they'd be living outside. They make mistakes but are over ninety-nine percent consistent. Good kitty kitties. I never think of less than an art collection. They have exquisitely beautiful faces, I don't know what could exceed them. They are, in the main, very affectionate with each other, and marvelously gentle at throwing a five day old kitten a foot in the air. My big tiger, a perfect and huge tom, seems to have gone for good. He was missing for first a day, then, awhile later, for two days, and awhile later three days, and it's now been a week. Superb animal, probably seven or eight pounds, perfect health, and he ever came back with any kind of scars. I have another very big, coal black tom, his brother, but they rarely fought, and the tiger was by far the heavier of the two. Probably seduced by cooking chicken -- I better watch out or Samantha will be next -- or sardines. Money again. What does it look like? How does it feel? It's been two weeks or something like that. From here on, famous last words, it should be a cake walk. Everything is paid for except five dollars weed and a few dollars for cigarettes, and the carrying expenses fall well within my thousand- plus dollar income. Of course, there will be all those chickens, but even so things like furnishing and fixing up should begin to proceed. I'm half appalled I don't want to be back on the cable. I miss, very much, Chief Inspector Morse on our BBC outlet, as well as "Law and Order" and "NYPD Blue". There were never enough Bundies or Golden Girls, but I loved what there were. The documentary free loli fuck channels kept me engaged for eight years, and were of enormous review value, as well as delineating the real Churchill, among others, but there does come a point when the diminishing returns turn them into time wasters. I miss P