smoldering look on the cover has me talking to it when I walk into the house. I smirk and wonder aloud: Am I actually talking to a magazine, every nerve in me wishes it was the real thing I could walk in on, and the real thing would ask: so how was your day, did you make a killing?
fine, now can we fuck so i don't have to think about it?
Now, you know why I am in need of a pet.
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