.. when did you get it?" You remember when I went on Spring Break, last year? Well, Pete Harris and I were walking down the boardwalk and we came acro...s a tattoo parlor..." What?! Pete Harris? My Pete Harris, the counselor of my cabin?" Well, yaah! Now, stop interrupting or I'll stop telling you. And don't think about starting any rumors about the two of us being an item; we were just sharing an apartment, him, me and about another half dozen guys and girls, I'm still not sure how many we were. She thought she might like it. Hippie that she was, the idea of kids her age living together struck a note in her. When she came back, this is what she related:The teenagers who grew up together ... looked elsewhere for mates."I grew up with her/him ... Why on earth would I want to marry/mate/fuck him/her ... her shit stinks!" His shit stinks." He picks his nose." She farts when she pees." She uses all the hot water." He farts in his sleep." He/she never makes his/her bed." I know everything. The bank man paid the bills out of the trust fund. Thank God for my grandparents or I'd be living in the street using old newspapers to keep me warm and not have any friends.Judy and I chatted nonstop during lunch which made me feel much better. Thank God for Judy.After school I trudged to the office supply store where I worked -- where I unofficially worked anyway. Mr. Walters made it clear to me when I first asked him for a job that a person needs to be sixteen to legally work. But I needed. Her daughter Amanda was subject to very strict rules of conduct even at age 19. These included no makeup, and very modest dress and of course no smoking. On the first day of my visit we were rather reckless, breaking all three rules and unfortunately being caught by a very vigilante Aunty Betty. The obvious result was a well deserved thrashing for both of us. Since this was my first taste of the strap I was rather upset, but Amanda managed to console me and we soon formed a very close.
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Ten years of marriage?” I queried, grabbing a can of Stella from the fridge“Yeah, the bastard,” my mother spat, lighting another Marlbro.“I su
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