She explained her problem and he sat her down on a stool and swung a golden watch in front of her face for some length of time and she thought it was ...unny and would never work on her agile mind.Sometime later, she woke up with her skirts up and her slit leaking Doctor Handel’s liquid essence as proof positive that the hypnosis worked quite well despite her conviction she was totally immune.He had implanted a system of checks and balances in her mind that precluded the inclination to walk in. A little over three months ago I got divorced from Jim Shepherd and I needed to get out of dodge. More specifically, I needed to get the fuck out of my old life and into something new for a while. So I got a leave from my job, packed up some clothing and three of the twenty-some pairs of shoes I own, and put the rest of my stuff in storage. Then I climbed into my white BMW and drove straight west. I was counting on US Interstate 80 to take me to something different.It fucking well did. It took. I was halfway up when I realised that she wasn't behind me and when I stopped to look, she was standing at the bottom looking up beneath my skirt."That's beautiful Annie," she said softly. "I love girly underwear." That's number two then," I said as she rejoined me."Number two?" Yes," I giggled. "One, we both like girls and two, we both love girly underwear." Number three," she said as we got inside the flat and closed the door behind us, "We both want to kiss each other."It was my first. I'll be both moving forward and fillingin the gaps. I'd like to say these stories are autobiography, and in a sensethey are. Some of what I'm writing about actually occurred, and much is extendedby my horny imagination. But then, I think autobiography is, really, fictionin the first person, based on the author's life. Who really can tell the wholetruth? Like I said, I wish this were even closer to an objective recountingof events than it is, but the embellishments, I hope, are what makes it.
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