I was here for my morning coffee: a simple mocha espresso, whole milk, no whip, as usual. Not girls, no matter how hot they were, or how wonderful my ...ock would feel going inside their snug asses. ‘Emily?’ the barista called out. ‘Emily, pumpkin spice frappuccino!’ The girl–Emily–walked to the counter and picked up her drink. How typical, I thought. Patterned leggings, Ugg boots, and a pumpkin spice frappuccino. It only served to make me harder, girls like this were an especial weakness of. Kids could be so heard to read, and Lisa was no different. One moment, she was reminding me that she was almost a teenager, with teenage thoughts, the next, she was like her old self, talking about playing games. We finally arrived at her house, with it’s typical brick neatness and manicured lawn of the suburbs, and I pulled into the driveway. After Lisa and I got inside the front door, she dropped her book bag to the floor with a thump and slowly bent down to take off her shoes, groaning with. More

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