It very quickly became our regular place—not just for breakfast, but for lunch as well.That first morning we were served by a striking young woman�...blonde-haired, blue-eyed and not lacking in the breast department. I fully expected to hear a certain voice telling me how she was just my type, but funnily enough, I didn’t. Thinking about it, I hadn’t heard a peep from that voice since my visit to Clarissa’s grave.I’m not sure this girl was just my type though. My type was usually at least slightly. On her knees,Wearing only pinkStar-studded socksAnd panties downAround her knees,Her hands restingLike doves upon the ledgeBefore her,Hair in pigtails,And a come-hither lookUpon her I-dare-you face,She would look good,Decorated with the beadsOf my pearlescent sperm.Breasts are ludicrous,But lovely,Much like a pair of pantiesRolled down to the knees,No longer clothing,But ornament--When they do not give suckTo infants' needs,Breasts are panties, too,Rolled down to the knees.God or nature,Take. More

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