Fucking Desi Girl In Doggy Style

..” my voice faltered, “I mean, I don’t—"He stepped back a little, letting me breathe.“I really don’t think...”“I’m sorry,” he cut me off, rubbing his eyes, “That uh, that really wasn’t fair of me.” His jaw clenched, “I uh, I shouldn’t unload on you like that.”I blinked at him, still baffled.“Look, I don’t need an answer from you tonight. Just promise me you’ll think about it, Pens,” he nodded down to his faceless Daphne, “I mean, you can only carve so many laurel leaves. At some point, you gotta focus on what actually matters.”Are there laurels in the seventh circle? My toes clenched as he flipped the switch, and lowered us back to the ground. Or apple trees? Péché Originel. L'Origine du monde. I still couldn’t quite remember how to speak. Even breathing wasn’t easy.“C’mon,” he took my hand again, and a quiver moved up through my wrist, “I’ve got a little office upstairs. Thought we could set you up in there.”Still reeling, I let him lead me up a precarious catwalk to a room. They spend all their time together, and the atmosphere around them is an intellectual storm of quantum physics, yachting and friends 'back east'. Meeting them at last, they turned out to be the most superior arrogant guys I've met. They usually don't go out on the scene, but get cruised all the time - money talks, they began telling me. As they described it, their conquests were always some young bright sports major or bookish clean cut actor, that comes up to chink glasses and make a witty comment, eyes fixed on one of the trust fund baby's chiselled faces or generous, well tailored packages. They always freeze them out, rating them after they've left, which inevitably results in one of the other guys taking him home at the end of the night, with nothing more than a command as he's leaving. Humiliated at being treated like an object, the guys almost never say no.I feel like such a dumbfuck around them. I'm ten years older, grew up in South Central LA, and since my ma didn't.
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