She wore no panties. I observed the wet hair that usually concealed her, but didn't. Lush brown hair covered her delta. The wet curls made a perfectly...straight line between her vulva. There was a little butterfly tattoo on her butt. I put a paper towel over her crotch and tucked it in.She then realized her nakedness and pointed to her fanny pack. I reclaimed her wet Jockeys and put them on her legs. I closed my eyes as she removed the towel to pull them up. When I looked again, her face was. .. but *he's* not."I sighed. This was probably a bad idea, but: "Has he had a vasectomy?" No... not that I know of." If he had, I could give you something to reverse it, but it would costyou. But something to make sure a condom breaks won't be as expensive." And it will make sure I get pregnant?" If the guy you're with is producing even a tiny amount of sperm, thiswill make sure one of them hits the target." All right, how much...?" You'd better make sure you're ready for this, whatever. Still, for all of his high ideals, there had been many evenings spent drowning his sorrows in absinthe. One evening after reading yet another pompous art critic lambaste his works, Dougray came to the inevitable conclusion that perhaps the true purpose of his art was to provoke a response no matter how visceral or mean-spirited. Maybe, he thought drunkenly, he was more provocateur than painter. An early winter’s night wrapped San Francisco in its brisk, crystalline embrace. Earlier that day, a. My friend who is gifted in subtle flirting unlike me had told me that he had started talking to a girl on Facebook and that she will be on the train. From what I had heard about her, she was dating a senior of mine and had few flings on the side. Our tickets got confirmed last minute, and nature played some wicked game and we got seats in the same bogie as she was in. Me, my friend and she met in the train near the washroom. It was my philosophy not to judge anyone based on rumours. We all.