Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd; / Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; / The dove pursues the griffin
He smiled at her as he had before they were lovers; the breasts and thighs and backsides, knees, feet and arms comradely crowded together on the truck seemed to deny the reality of the physical presence he had lent her in a hotel room in Dar.
Well, she was a deep-throater, took it all the way in.
That disguise is a dead giveaway! Choose something less obvious.
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