He set the book down carefully, as if it was a priceless possession. “I think you and this book are the same thing. Beautiful.” He whispers to me,...his eyes still trained on the book, his fingers running soft lines on the cover. “I have to tell you the truth, the only thing inside my head today, was you. I knew you were looking at me earlier. That's when I knew. Everything after that, I did to be alone with you. To talk. You're the first person to know about me, Oliver. The first.” “And what's. The girl is some pot head. She was a white girl with dirty, stringy, blonde hair, maybe sixteen years old. She was not very pretty, but she did have one nice feature. The girl had a terrific bosom, D cup size he figured. "She must be high," he thought, for she was staggering, having trouble with her balance."Are those tits real, or are you wearing falsies?" he asked her.She grinned at him. "Sure they are real! You wanna see them?" The girl raised her sweater up to her shoulders. She was not. More

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