”“But think of ‘The Drover’s Wife.’ The story or the painting. That’s bleak. And lonely. But it’s quite imposing.”“True. And you’r... leaving tomorrow?”“Yes. And you?”“I’m staying here for a few more days.”“And then?”“Sydney to ‘do’ the museums and see what’s on.”“Phone me. Leave a message at the Museum and let me know where you are.”“I’ve a friend who works at the Glebe Library and lives near there. I’ll be staying with her.”“Please call me.”“I will.”I went to my room, put the Sturt away, and. IF THE LOOK OF HIM WAS NOT ENOUGH ALREADY. I STARTED UNZIPPING HIS LEVIS AND PULLED HIS MEMBER FROM HIS JEANS IT WAS BEAUTIFUL LARGE AND THROBBING AND FULL OF blood EVERY TIME THAT I TOUCHED IT HE WOULD THROW HIS HEAD BACK AND CLOSE HIS EYES. I DID NOT KNOW IF HE KNEW WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN AND I COULD NOT HAVE CARED LESS. I TOOK THE FULL LENGTH OF HIM IN MY MOUTH AND THROAT. HE FILLED MY MOUTH LIKE NO OTHER. HE WAS MASSIVE TO SAY THE LEAST. I SUCKED AND SUCKED TILL HE GROWLED AND GRABBED ME. More

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