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The Guitar Player
He pushed his guitar out of the way and leaned over to kiss me as I sat on his bed. I pulled him to me, deepening our kiss, my tongue seeking entrance to his mouth. He pulled away just long enough to discard the guitar. He kissed me again and traced my curves with his fingertips, stopping at the hem of my sweater; then he slid his hands underneath. I pulled away and looked him in the eyes as I pulled the sweater over my head and dropped it on his bedroom floor. He looked at me, his “Blanca”:...
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