CHAPTER 13
When you’re hot, you’re very hot

(Note from the editor, this is NSFW Not Suitable For Work – Simon)

Lucy said she didn’t want to go to the wine bar, that she had something else in mind. She asked him to follow her and within a few seconds they were right back in the same spot where she had taken him before his performance.

“I’d rather be at the bar… ,” Charles began when he was interrupted by Lucy raising her plaid skirt and revealing that she was wearing pantyhose with the crotch cut out.
“Does this remind you of anything Charles?” she asked very seductively.

God I could answer that a thousand different ways, he thought as he squinted at her crotch and quickly looked around to make sure no one else was looking at where he was looking.

“Your first novel, silly,” she blurted out.

Make that a thousand and one ways, he mused as he quickly was forced back in time and into a scene from his first book.

“But that took place in a library,” he said, happy that he remembered the scene, because the main female character was suddenly very much alive and in front of him.
“I have even worn the exact same clothes as the character,” Lucy pointed out.

Charles nodded, he couldn’t remember the other clothes the character was wearing, but of course he remembered the pantyhose with the crotch cut out. His mother yelled at him for putting that in a book. His father liked it.

In Charles’ first book he had written a scene where a couple decides to spice up their sex life by fornicating in places that they could possibly be sighted. The female character would wear no panties and put on a pair of panty hose with the crotch cut out. The male character also didn’t wear underpants and wore loose fitting sweat pants that he could drop in a second. The first public place they did it in was a library… in the sexual orientation aisle of the local library for added merit.

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“There are no libraries close by, this will have to do,” Lucy said as jumped into Charles’ arms.

Charles Craig Curtis then did something that startled him. He put her down and practiced self-control.

“No. Let’s go to the bar,” he said as he grabbed her arm and tugged her very easily across the street.

As in his novel, no one saw the two characters humping in the library. No one saw Charles lead Lucy across the street either.

“Are you mad?” Lucy asked Charles, her eyes downcast; when they had sat at a rounded table booth in the back of the bar that was dark; the way Charles liked it. He ordered a glass of Pinot Noir for himself and a glass of Chardonnay for Lucy after he checked her license to make sure she was 21.

“No, and you shouldn’t be upset. I’m flattered beyond belief,” Charles said. “Let’s see if we can’t hook up some other time when I visit. By the way, are you always so brash?”
“Really?” she said, very excited that the door was still open. “By the way, I am very aggressive, because my parents’ said I was born in a year when everything was edgy.”
Possibly, Charles thought as he had to have more time to think about bedding a much younger woman who was born in a year when everything was ‘edgy’.

He had many opportunities to screw younger women, but couldn’t pull the trigger, as they say, and had stuck to re-locating the women of his past via the social network. They were all his age, and he had really liked fucking them and comparing their fucks in the present to their fucks in the past.

///

“I think you’re hot,” Lucy said.
“I know that you are,” Charles said with a wink.
“Just watch and feel,” she said as she slid under the table.
Charles Craig Curtis also had written a scene like this in his first novel and decided to let Lucy give him a blowjob that he was sure was coming. He knew that he would be able to perform a lot of oral sex on Anne, and that between now and when he had to get it up, as they say, he would have had plenty enough time to recover.

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But it wasn’t his fly that Lucy opened. And what he was about to experience next should have been in his first book.

Charles felt his left shoe being slipped off, just like an experienced shoe sales person would do it. Then, his argyle sock was rolled down his calf and taken off. He looked around, and, of course, no one was paying attention to anyone but themselves. Suddenly, Lucy came up from under the table and moved to the middle of the booth (she had been sitting directly across from him, before she went under the table).
Foot fetish of the weirdest kind, he thought, until she grabbed his left leg and inserted his left big toe in her very wet pussy.

Definitely, Charles answered himself, as he let Lucy play with her pussy with his toe. He looked around again and brought his eyes to her face, expecting to see her eyes closed and hopefully not having an outrageous orgasm in public. He guessed wrong on this as she was staring at him with a huge grin.

“Like it?” she asked.

“What’s not to like?” Charles replied.

“I’d rather have your cock,” she said bluntly. Then she took his toe out of her pussy, slid back under the table, and put his sock and shoe back on, and reappeared where she had originally sat. She picked up her wine and took a long gulp.

“I have a prearranged night of fun that I have to get going, too,” Charles found himself saying.

“After what I just did, you’re going?” she said astonished. “You know anyone can fuck. It’s what you do after with your companion that really matters.”

“A very wise foreign and domestic policy to follow Lucy,” Charles said. “Why don’t we exchange numbers and I’ll contact you when I will be in town next.”

“Pick up your phone and dial 516.625.4523.”

Charles did and Lucy’s phone rang. Her dial tone was set to some music that Charles didn’t recognize.

“Now I have your phone number; so I will know it’s you when you call,” she said.
Uh oh, he thought. I’m bound to get all sorts of pictures and texts from this one. Think fast, think fast….

“I will call. I don’t text,” Charles lied.

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“Neither do I, too impersonal,” she said.

“I’m impressed. I didn’t’ think young people did anything but text. By the way, who was that on your ring tone?”

“Lady Gaga… have a nice date,” she said sarcastically, as she got up before he did and was out of the bar before he could blink.

“I really think sticking to older women is a lot safer,” he said to the empty booth. He then signaled the waitress, paid his tab, and went outside to catch a cab; then, instead he decided to walk the 10 blocks to Anne’s house to clear his own mind about what just happened and wondered if it was some sign. He enjoyed the walk, because he didn’t have to deal with any budding Greek gyro entrepreneurs or Muslim terrorist cab drivers and marveled at himself for being on time for his date with Anne Snow.
She lived in a beautiful building that Charles thought would be a nice fit in his neighborhood. The doorman was expecting him (per Anne’s instruction) and Charles slipped him $10. The doorman gave him a dirty look.

Fuck you, Charles thought. “Ten bucks for opening a door and I get a dirty look? Another reason why Boston is better… no greedy doormen,” he said inside the empty elevator. “Shit!” he suddenly yelled out. I forgot to bring something. He then fumbled with his bag, and all he had in it were a few leftover unsigned books, some paper, his phone charger, and a gift card for $50 from the bookstore. There was also an unopened brown paper lunch bag in his bag. He had no memory of putting it in there, but now he opened it and placed the $50 gift card inside. This is what he would give her and hope she wouldn’t get mad.

Maybe I should pray that she doesn’t get mad, he mused as he knocked on her apartment door.

The door flung open, and there stood Anne. They eagerly embraced, and then as had been their custom over the years, when they hadn’t seen each other, they stepped back to appraise and complement each other’s physical appearances.

And why not? They had both been physically addicted to each other for a long time.
Anne saw that Charles was 5’ 9” tall with broad shoulders that made him look taller. He had a thick neck and a square jawline with a dimpled chin. He had light blue eyes and straight hair that was thinning way too fast. It was all grey, and he kept it long in the back. He had been considering getting a hair transplant, but actually going to see the surgeon was proving more of an elusive task then writing.
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“It’s not if I will have a hair transplant, it is when will I do it,” he had told his daughter.
“What are you waiting for?” she had replied. “If you’re worried about going out in public with bandages… just sit inside and write until your scalp heals.”

Oh boy, Charles had thought, just what I need.

Anne Snow saw a man who, in his early fifties, was in better than average physical shape.

This was true, Charles Craig Curtis did walk his dog twice a day, watched what he ate, and once in a while; worked out with a physical trainer now that he could afford it.
“Think of how great you would look if you knocked off the wine, cheese and crackers” the trainer had said to him six months into his routine.

I gave up pipes and cigars — that’s as far as I go,” Charles said.
Now, when Charles Craig Curtis looked at himself, he viewed a very different man than his friend Anne Snow saw.

Amongst other things, Charles saw an aging writer who hit the big time out of sheer dumb luck, as they say. A nobody who had become… a somebody, and now when he has to do more; he can’t. A man who was eating right, exercising right, but fucking women way too much, because he desired to do so, and it kept him unfocused on what he should be focusing on. He should treat himself to the hair transplant, get his teeth whitened and capped, hire a nutritionist, and all that other make yourself feel good stuff. But why… because he could afford it or was it a way to show off his success or, better yet – – distract him from what he knew he wasn’t doing? What he wanted was Dr. Emma Hancock to tell him what he needed, and then he would go out and get it or do it. The big problem was his fearing what ‘getting’ and ‘doing’ might entail.
Charles Craig Curtis wasn’t questioning his physical appearance, just his mental state of mind.

But when Charles Craig Curtis looked over Anne Snow, he saw a woman who looked ten years younger than she really was. She was taller than Charles.

“Model height,” she always called it.

Since having bronze skin came into vogue, Anne always had the perfect tan. Her teeth where perfect and looked great with her pouty mouth and lips. She had brown eyes and wore her hair longer than most women her age; because as Charles told her the

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next morning, ‘she could’. Anne was now into highlighting her hair, and her blonde hair which had light red highlights looked great. She was small breasted, and although she could afford it, she never thought once about breast implants. Anne was dressed in a formal black cocktail dress, wore red stiletto heels, and topped it off by wearing a classic white pearl necklace to adorn her neck. She was a top notch executive with a Madison Avenue advertising agency. She had started at the very bottom, but with her determination, grit, and hard work she climbed that ladder rather quickly.

“Know what the best part of being at the top is?” she once asked her much younger executive assistant.

“I’m sure there are a lot of things,” the assistant began before being cut off by Anne.

“I don’t have to suck, fuck, and literally take it up the ass from men I don’t like. Now, I can pick and choose on my terms.”

The executive assistant put in for a transfer to another part of the company as soon as she could.

“Do you want to know why I look so good?” Anne later asked Charles.

“Fire away.”

Faith in God and a lot of sex on my terms,” she replied.

Christian Fiction, Charles mused.

Anne Snow knew at the tender young age of 14 she was incapable of bearing children. She thought she was pregnant (not by Charles), and went to the local abortion clinic for advice. She went thru a battery of tests when her initial results came back negative on her being pregnant. The reason for the battery of tests was because of Anne informing the doctor and nurses about how much she enjoyed and participated in the act of fornification. The final results with all the tests showed that Anne Snowe would never be fertile. This didn’t set her back one iota. Oh contraire, as they say she used it to her advantage. And to play it even safer, when she could afford it, she had her tubes tied.

“Why did you do that?” Charles wrote to her in a letter after receiving a letter from her while they were both away at college. “I thought you couldn’t get pregnant no matter how many cocks filled you up?”

“Not taking any chances,” was her reply. “And speaking of cocks, when will I see yours again?”

So was their relationship.
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Anne Snow also had a strict diet regiment that she had learned over the years from her very open policy about sex.

“If it works, stick to it,” she would always tell people, when they commented on her trim and toned figure, and asked about her diet secrets (she only named her top three), which consisted of staying away from any food that contained high fructose corn syrup, not touching any food that had any genetically modified anything in it, and eliminating MSG from her diet.

“You must read every ingredient in every product,” Charles once said to her.
“That’s number four. If the ingredients are not listed, it never goes in this body,” she said, as she unrobed for Charles awhile back, before Charles had become famous.

///

“Good to see that you haven’t changed one bit,” Charles said as he gave her incredible body the look over.

“Not one bit!” she said with a grin.

Charles knew that all knowing grin all too well. Anne always had a boatload of reasons for that sit eating grin. For instance, when she was a teenager, she would sometimes make Charles or whomever she was fooling around with ejaculate into an empty 33 millimeter film canister. She kept the sperm cold by putting it in the dorm room refrigerator her parents had bought for her. When she broke out with her once in a while pimple, she would spread the cold sperm on the infected area before she went to bed. She claimed it worked better than any over the counter anti-acne medicine.
Another item she claimed she invented was to find out a way to make Charles, and the other boys who she slept with, stop ejaculating so quickly. Sure, as young men, they would be hard again in minutes, but the waiting annoyed her. So, she started experimenting. Charles Craig Curtis was her first guinea pig.

Anne as a teenager couldn’t comprehend that most boys (at least the ones that she had slept with) achieved orgasm before she did because of how excited they were to be having sex.

“That was fast is a lot better than is it in?” Anne would tell her mate of the moment when he had ejaculated after a few strokes and blushed at how quickly it had happened, knowing that Anne was just getting started.

“Do you come this fast when you masturbate?” Anne had once asked Charles.

“Faster,” was his reply. “You?”

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“Takes me a long time,” she said.

“Aha, my friend, I think we have discovered something here. The question is how we can help me not to cum so quickly.”

At this point in their teenage years, there wasn’t much out there about this subject, and what was out there seemed to be hocus–pocus concepts or just plain nonsense.
They tried the rubber band idea. This proved so painful to Charles that he lost his erection. Years later, he sent Anne an article that he read about in some health magazine where researchers proved that the rubber band idea actually might have made some men sustain their hard-on, but it killed their ability to produce healthy sperm.

Then came Anne’s ‘Edsel moment’ as Charles called it. Once upon a time the Ford Motor Company thought they had invented the greatest car of all time. It was called The Edsel. It bombed. So did Anne’s attempt to get Charles to last longer — or ‘to keep it going’ as she used to urge the boys who were rapidly ejaculating before she could get her motor racing.

One day Anne overdid it when practicing her pretty decent game of tennis. Her lumbar area was throbbing. She had never experienced a sore muscle and went to the pharmacy to buy something to soothe that area.

The druggist suggested Ben-Gay, then ice, then some relaxing. Anne decided to put the goo on right away and then when she got home, she would ice the area and then also relax as the druggist suggested.

She walked home and couldn’t believe how numb the area had become. She skipped the ice and went into the relaxing mode.

While relaxing she came up with the perfect idea to cure Charles’ (and the other boys’) problem.
She would rub Ben-Gay on their balls. That would numb the area where the sperms began their assent, and ‘keep it going’ for a lot longer than she was getting.

“Brilliant!” she yelled, as she leaped up and ran to the phone to call Charles. While she dialed the phone, she noticed that there was a slight twinge where she had rubbed the lotion and made a mental note to apply some ice and then take a hot bath.

Charles really enjoyed sex with Anne. He knew that he came way too quickly, but the harder he concentrated on not cuming, the quicker he came.

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She knew he was the perfect guinea pig.

Charles had a hard-on as soon as he walked through the door to Anne’s home. Anne’s parents both worked the night shift, so there was always time alone for Anne and whomever she was fucking.

They wasted no time in shedding their clothes and groping at each other’s body parts.
“Care for an experiment?” Anne whispered into his ear as she stuck her tongue in it.

“Is this a ruse?”

She bolted up and sprinted to the bathroom where she had stashed the tube of Ben-Gay.

Charles looked at his cock and tried to telepathically communicate with it to ‘keep it going.’

Anne returned and motioned for Charles to lie on his back on the family room’s floor.
When Anne was experimenting with Charles, she needed a big laboratory. The floor in the family room was the perfect place. She was a good house keeper and would have the carpet cleaner than her own mother would when she was done with her laboratory experiment… she had to!

She then rubbed the Ben-Gay all over Charles’ cock and balls.

It was his time to bolt up, because when a male has a great hard-on, it is very sensitive… especially to something as potent as Ben-Gay.

“What is this!” he screamed, as he tried to make a move to the first floor bathroom to stick his cock under the sink’s water faucet, which Charles had turned all the way to the cold setting, while all the time straining on the top of his toes to stick his hard on under the faucet.

Anne knocked him off balance; dragged him back to the floor, and mounted his hard-on.

This had a calming effect on Charles, and soon they were both moaning in pleasure, and for the first time ever Anne wasn’t yelling ‘keep it going’, because she achieved orgasm before Charles did. After he ejaculated, Anne got all giddy, as she explained her experiment to him. Charles, who was now feeling the heat from the lotion, since his blood had returned to where it belonged, bolted up to get cold water on his cock, but this is where the experiment went bad for Anne.

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For the most part, the Ben-Gay that she had rubbed all over Charles’ balls and cock had acted as a lubricant, of sorts, and was now not only burning inside her vagina, but also all around it. She beat Charles to the bathroom, and they both broke out into mutual laughter as they washed themselves with ice cold wash cloths.

“I’m never trying that again, but it was worth it,” she said. “By the way, do you know why every house has a room designated as the ‘family room’?”

“Nope.”

“It’s where a lot of families come from, because of all the fucking going on in them,” she said with a big laugh.

“Next time, how about a warning?” Charles asked.

“It’s the surprise that matters – not the warning” she said with a wink.

“Almost like foreshadowing… almost,” Charles whispered sarcastically.

Anne’s other sexual follies involved not only Charles but other men whom she dated, picked up or desired. As she grew older, the sex toys got better, and so did her imagination.

///

Anne didn’t just happen into the advertising business by accident. She always was imaginative, and had a keen sense of what sold and what did not sell, to boot.
“It’s my love for sex that gave me my creative voice,” she told her direct superior after she had impressed a rather large account with her ad campaign and slept with that same superior who had given her the account in the first place.

“Makes sense,” the boss man casually replied. He didn’t care — she had pleased a giant client, and he had just gotten his rocks off like he had never done before.

///

After the Ben-Gay fiasco, Anne spent a lot of time conjuring up potential sexual turn-on ideas she could add to her growing collection. She was still a teenager and that meant lots of creative concepts to experiment with.

One day, while she was practicing her tennis swing by hitting the ugly yellow balls against a wall next to the public tennis courts, she suddenly wondered what the boys who fucked her felt when their penis was in her vagina? She knew what she felt, but

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what did they actually feel before they ejaculated? Then as she hit the balls harder, her mind raced around wondering if she would like to have a penis and put it in a vagina? She could answer her first question and only dream about the second… or could she?
What about a strap on dildo? She mused as she smacked that ball harder and harder against that wall.

Anne already owned a vibrator. She had paid an older woman to buy it for her at a sex store in a seedier part of town. Anne met the older woman at the public tennis court. The woman was happy to be buying ‘something of use’ for a young woman under the age of 21. She told Anne that she was usually asked by younger girls and boys to buy alcohol.

And alcohol would be needed to get her favorite guinea pig young Charles Craig Curtis ‘loosened’ up for what she wanted to try.

Anne had also thought that some pot would need to be smoked for young Charles to really be in the mood for Anne’s newest idea about not only seeing if she would like ‘playing man’, but if young Charles would like ‘playing woman’.
Young Charles had gotten drunk with her a few times, but she didn’t think that he had tried marijuana. Anne had smoked it with another one of her boyfriends’ and she was startled at how her few inhibitions disappeared.

Anne went out and bought an athletic supporter or ‘cup’ as the store clerk at the local sporting goods store had told her. The clerk had sold Anne lots of tennis gear and thought it was weird that she wanted one but never questioned her buying an athletic supporter.

Anne then began the task of making her contraption. She knew she could build it with her determination. Then she had to try it out before she tried it on Charles.

Now bold is a problem, she predicted.

But she didn’t have to think long.

She had once made a boy masturbate over her stomach, and then she, in turn, masturbated in front of him, and then told him “That’s why God gave us five fingers.”
She secured the vibrator inside the cup by cutting the right size hole in the center with her father’s very sharp bowie knife. She stuck the vibrator through the hole so it fit nice and secured it in place by lathering rubber cement all around where the two

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items were joined. She had to make it strong; because she knew that it would be getting a lot of tension when she used it like she wanted to. Once it was dry, she then would stroke it as fast as the boy had done to his own penis. If it held up, she had her weapon.

She climbed into the jockstrap and looked down at her penis. She smiled at how ramrod straight it was and how secure she had made it. She squeezed some lubricant into her right palm and feverishly stroked it like it was her own. The gizmo held against her pumping hand movements, and now it was time to summons young Charles Craig Curtis.

Anne waited until her parents were going to be gone for an entire day and night. It didn’t take long, her parents made a plan for a one day and night trip a few weeks after Anne invented her new toy.

She phoned young Charles and told him to come over at dinner time; so, he better not eat anything. Anne wasn’t going to fix young Charles’ dinner. She wanted him on an empty stomach so the beer and pot went right to his head and brought down any inhibition he might have if he were sober.

Young Charles arrived at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday, (Or as Anne had been referring to it, in her own mind, ‘D-Day’, the d standing for her homemade type dildo).
As soon as young Charles walked in and didn’t smell anything cooking, he knew something was well… cooking.

“I’m hungry,” he protested.

“I’m horny,” she said.

“That’s a given. At least let me get something to….”

She interrupted his last word by shoving a cold can of beer into his hand.

“Read my mind,” he said with a smile. “I’d oblige you to share this with me, especially if we can get a pizza to go with it.”

She shook her head.

He took a gulp and then belched.

Why do men burp after they drink beer?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. Go ask a man — I’m still a teenager. Would you rather we fart?”

They do that, too.”

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Charles took another swallow. “What’s up Anne?” he asked sternly.

“Want to smoke some pot?”

“But you have no food,” young Charles pointed out. “I get the munchies when I get high.”

“I have a different menu prepared for you.”

“What is this, another one of your experiments?” he asked.

“Yes. Best one yet,” she said. “Finish the beer, fast.

Charles did as he was instructed, and Anne took him by his hand and into her bedroom. She had some incense burning and the windows open, so the smell of the pot wouldn’t be in her room when her parents came home the next day. She thrust the joint into Charles’ mouth. Charles took some long drags, and within a few minutes of the marijuana mixing with the hastily drunk beer, was buzzed better than he could remember.

“I’m buzzed Anne, and you’re not. This better be good.”

She turned off the lights and quickly undressed herself. Charles loved the way she looked in the candle light and was instantly aroused and peeled off his clothes.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded.

He did.

She started rubbing her vagina against his closed buttocks while she caressed his cock underneath. He moaned in pleasure and started pressing his ass against her pelvis.
Bingo, she thought. He will like it.

No, Charles was reacting to her fondling his shaft and balls, not to her pelvic grinds.
Suddenly, she let go and told Charles she had to go to the bathroom, but to remain on his knees. She put on her harness and returned. In her calculations, Anne had forgotten one tiny detail.

She hadn’t lubed up Charles’ anus, like she had the vibrator.
In one swift motion, she parted his cheeks and tried to shove the contraption in.
Charles, his sense of touch made more acute by the pot, jumped up into the air and

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landed on the floor with a thud. As soon as he saw what Anne was up to, he started cursing up a storm at her. After about five minutes of yelling at each other, he let her lubricate his anus, and slowly, let her penetrate as much of the vibrator as he could stand without hurting himself. He knew it was turning her on more than him, but once he let her have her way, he would get his.

“How was it?” he asked her.

“I need to refine my game and make it better for both,” she said.

“I’d like to help you with the concept, but only if we get a pizza,” he said.

Over the course of years, Anne did, in fact, refine her game. At one point she bought a strap on dildo that squirted goo at the head when a button was pushed.

Years later, when Anne would bring up that experiment, Charles would frown and Anne would say “rectum, I almost killed him.”

“Lousy pun,” Charles would mutter.

///

Anne wasn’t always a member of ‘Christian fiction’ as Charles called it. She had been brutally beaten when she refused to let a would be rapist have any of her body. Everyone told her it would be a miracle if she recovered. She not only recovered, she got better at everything.

“Funny that with all the men I had ever had, none beat me,” she told Charles after she had recovered.

“How many men have you been with?” he asked her.

“Hundreds,” she replied. “Not only that, no sexually transmitted diseases, either, “she boasted.

“Wow,” Charles said.

“It’s a miracle I survived and got stronger. Faith in God and Jesus has seen me through everything, and I can still fuck as many men as I want,” she quipped.
“You’re not married, and I bet you don’t sleep with married men anymore,” Charles said.

“Smart man. I learned from you and my higher power. Screw around, but stay away from the married ones… no matter what. God also told me to be fruitful, because I can’t multiply,” she said with a smile.

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If you missed the earlier Chapters you can find them here.

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