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Stockings and service not included
I got an email from the BSG last week, asking if he could borrow a pair of my tights. Mildly alarmed, and more than a little intrigued, I agreed to the whole sordid-sounding affair. I?ve already said I?ll marry him, so I suppose at this stage anything goes? As it turns out, the BSG is a gentleman, and a quince-essential one at that? Alright, I am sorry about the terrible attempt at a
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