My mother had gifted them to me for my twelfth birthday. And he despised tattoos. There was no telling what he would do if I came home with a tatt, if...you believed all his bluster. In reality he was a pussy. I knew deep down that I could do anything and he would eventually accept it. That’s why I had no second thoughts about getting a small heart tattoo just above my vagina. And why I allowed myself to be fucked by the tattooist and his brother every night for the last week. They were both. Hisbathroom only consisted of a toilet under the garage stairs. If Pauland his mom wanted a bath the choice was either use the lake likegrandpa or beg the their relatives across the street in their normalhouse. Paul didn't mind the lost of television as much and knew how toentertain himself.When Paul returned to work the balloons at the register were replacedwith scarecrows. By the door was a singing and dance Frankensteinmonster and cackling skeleton. Between the registers and. More

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