“It’s not wicked or damned, it’s not hurtful nor harmful nor vexful nor scammed. xxx18 Too many sad folks taste not life, but waste it. Sure enough, he spied his mark in seconds: A strapping young man with a face full of tears trudged alone through the snowy night and the empty streets. Her tiny, cherry-red nipples stood out firm as he rolled his palms over them, and she favored him with a thin smile. “What’s wrong with me?”
“It‘s nothing about you,” said the boy. The girl played hostess and poured them mulled wine, slipping her fingers briefly into the boy’s hand when she gave him the mug.
