It's the name I picked for her. Abigail Elizabeth Grant. Lost in the vision I was seeing, I realized that mom was talking to me. "How about some lunch..." She took my hand and we walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, made a sandwich and poured some iced tea. Sitting at the table, I slowly ate my lunch slowly, savoring the feeling of such openness, enjoying each minute. We washed up the dishes and I went in the small bath, retracing my lips with fire engine red lipstick, two coats. I was in. His crow’s feet, the grey in his beard, the thinness of hair. All these features he once thought made him look distinguished revolted him now. They were just the markings of an aging man. And his manly musk that used to intoxicate him was just sweat and cigars, the stench of tobacco.He couldn’t believe he’d let this smelly old man come inside him.“I never would have fucked you if I’d known who you were,” he growled.“I… I couldn’t tell if you recognized me when I saw you at the Bravard,” Armisen. More

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