That’s not a marriage. That’s being roommates. Truth be told, he wasn’t even a good roommate. He was messy, never picked up after himself. I had...to do everything—including bailing him out with the creditors and the IRS. It was probably my fault. Or at least the fault of the culture we were formed in. Josh was right there with us in those sitting-on-the-bean-bag-cushion, cross-legged-on-the-floor bull sessions we used to do in college. He listened to us regurgitate what we’d heard in class, he. She leaned into him, notnearly as forcibly as Prissy.Then she started to stutter. She started to answer his question bysaying, OMG, I need to be making men cum, but that wasn't what he'd askedher. She had to obey him. "Oh, my... my... my... name... OMG... my nameith Panthy Pumpthcock."OMG, she had a lisp. When she talked to men, she had the sissiest, mosthumiliating lisp in the world. The idea made her feel weak, and lean intothe man, and say. "OMG, I need to be making men cum." Well, you two. More

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