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Kitty's: Girls, Girls, Girls Outside, It was a trailer with a fence And blinking light bulbs. Inside, Clouds of perfume floated thickly With Marlboro Red smoke. Women, mid-thirties With cliché whore clothes And make-up on. Backs of their thighs Lacerated with cellulite. I was nervous, Couldn't seem to get it right. Not after a blow job. Not after doggy-style. Not after backdoor. Not after a twenty-minute hand job. And as the time ran out, Just when I was feeling guilty, A little dirty to boot, After we were done, She asked how old I really was. I said sixteen. She laughed, "I'd take a clean white Carson High boy over any old oily Mexican any day." And with that, I came into the warm waters Of the bowl she held washing off my prick. My semen belly-up, Intermingled with Sanitary soap bubbles.
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