Dixie was just skipping along like a deer. the owner behind hanging onto 3 leashes was running behind his dogs. she happliy kept up. she was use to bu...ks speed! he would race threw the bushes he took her to a pretty stream and they made out there and he mounted her again. after he was lapping up water from the stream. she copied him and was lapping up water like a puppy following her daddys every move. shes skipping along and as buck and rex stop and sniff and mark trees, she tries to speak but. He might noticemy top and my top-heavy proportions, and sneak up tocatch me from behind.My imagination shifts into high gear as I consider whomight walk innocently into camp and discover me. I cannotrisk being seen, not in my present state of undress. Forlast-ditch protection, the blanket sits beside my chair.It lay on a few remaining pieces of wood to keep it outof the mud. I can grab it if necessary and quickly wrapits protective fabric around my waist. If too late evenfor that, I think about. Mujhe niche bitha kar Daan bola “Come on baby, remove my shorts and take my dick out.” Mera chehra ekdam ghabraya hua aur dara hua sa tha, mere hath kaap rahe the aur main dhire dhire Daan ke shorts ka button khol rahithi.Woh bola. “Come on faster faster you.” Maine uske shorts ko khol diya aur niche utara, aur dekha to uska cock itna bada aur mota sat ha, main to chonk hi gayi, karib 6-7 inch lamba aur 2 inch mota hoga. Fir usne apni tshirt nikali, uski body kafi muscular thi. Fir usne apne. But some of the later entries in the journal were a tighter, more reserved version of the same handwriting, schooled by age and experience. One poem stuck out from all the rest—just a few lines that read, “I’m coming back to live on Duffy Lane. I’ll cry my tears and face my shame, and outlive everyone who remembers me, and be the one who tells all she sees.” The rhymes were a little weak but what struck me was the determination to return to Duffy Lane and outlive everyone she knew. That didn’t.