This was the sordid dance of two lovers in their own world and I was just a mere fly on the wall. It was practically like they had forgotten I was he...e. I was instructed before I went in the hotel room to sit and watch, which I did as I was told; she just failed to mention that they’d ignore my existence. I soon phased out, my mind elsewhere in a fantasy of my own. The burnt in memory of Mora returned. I was the client, the person my friend was dancing on, my gaze laying on her breasts with. She had gained just enough weight at that point of her life that she looked plush and rounded, her curves delicious, and her wiggle, in the famous scene at the train station, pure beauty.Howard spent his days in his darkened living room replaying his DVD of “Some Like It Hot” over and over, peering at the screen to try to get his failing eyes to register Marilyn’s beauty one more time before the darkness came.It was a miserable existence, and he often cried himself to sleep in his easy chair at. More

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