What's she talking about?I answered, "I, uhm..." Oh, yeah," she replied, "Use my keys, they're in my front pants pocket."Oh? Now she wants me to put m... hand in her front pants pocket? This is getting weird.I haltingly pushed my fingers into the front pocket of her tight-fitting jeans. I couldn't help feeling the warmth of her skin as slid my hand all the way into her pocket to grab her keys. I got them, pulled them out, and unlocked the door.Later that night, we were in her bedroom sitting on. She remembered the amusing fact that she was not quite a blushing virgin in those days and had shamefully spread her legs for not just one charming male fellow student, but had also fallen under the wing of a sexually demanding mentor that shared the secrets of artistic composition providing she obeyed his whims for pleasure.Her master was not a Frenchman.Apparently, he was one of those characters that had appeared on the streets of the romantic city of love as if by magic and without proper. More

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