Cooking With Molly
When I saw Molly through the mass of young bodies I almost did a double-take. It had been months, but I still had her face seared into my memory, especially that exuberant, half-drunk grin she had worn as she wiped a strand of cum off her cheek. I thought I was just seeing things. She was a roadside attraction in Cornland, not one of Florida's gloriously slutty party girls. But there she was again, ducking and weaving her way through the throng. Her face was flushed red. She waved...