Not critically, at least not to the point that they couldn’t move. But they would slow down any pursuit. I figured that the skinny one would give it...up in a heartbeat. But the fat one was obstinate, stubborn, and not smart enough to know better.Unfortunately, I had the same problem with these two women. I wasn’t sure about their woodcraft abilities. The younger one had impressed me, and I hadn’t seen anything to complain about yet. But the older, Professor, was a problem. She was dragging her. " Anthropologie, huh?" I don't know. I just liked it."She smiled. "They have very nice stuff. Very feminine. Oh stop, it'sfine," she said, picking up her iPad. "So show me what you liked."I showed her the dress. "I tried it on..." Really? How was it?" A little tight in the stomach." Keep up the pilates and you'll look great in it." I let that 'you' gotoo. "How was trying it on?" Like trying on clothes." It didn't bother you?" No. I mean I'm you. I'm a woman. I mean I'm physically a. Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, but I never did get to catch a glimpse of him sunbathing again—and that wasn’t for a lack of trying.Now, two years later, I still hunger to see him again, but my hunger has grown into a burning need to do much more than see him.Put simply, he was all man—all six feet three inches of him and the boys at college didn’t, couldn’t, and would never compare to Jacob Fimmel.His footsteps on the cobblestone driveway brought me back to the present. He asked why I didn’t wipe it up right away, I told him that I like the feeling. That’s when he jokingly (I think ;) said that he should shoot his load in my shoe so I could feel it as long as I wanted. At first I was a little taken back by the suggestion but being fairly open minded I said maybe.I thought about him firing off in my shoe for a little while. He would ask from time to time if I wanted to “take him home”, I would just kind of ignore him. Plus I really like my shoes and any woman.
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