Thursday, August 6, 2015

Notes-The Mill

I used to feel bad for some of the poor dears who became flustered when I bestowed my bounty on them. The gift of my big beautiful girls. I could always tell the ones who were accustomed to a thin strapped single clasped bra. Some were even foolish enough to search the front for release. Sweat would form on their dear flustered brows when faced with my full metal four clasp behind the back brassiere regalia.

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Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality, artisanal smut, with a pinch of full time flâneur tossed in to taste.