Put a hat on the soldier. The soldiers don't need to have an egg for breakfast, unless you want to buy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for the next eighteen years. Let's have fun, but keep it safe.

. . . Your hair--it's kind of wavy. Indian in your blood, or are you a hypocrite and texturize your hair?"He hesitated, appeared uneasy, then said, "My mother is black and my father is white.""Your a brown-skinned Drake and didn't vote for your cousin Obama?

. . . I looked at him, at the debonair man in the suit of all suits . . . . I wasn't in clothes on the level of his, but I wanted the hotel staff to regard me with respect. I grabbed my bag, hoping he wouldn't say anything about me carrying so much, but. I wanted it to look like I was arriving as a guest, not as rented coochie.

I held his energy in my hand. When it was firm, when it was rising, I let it go, eased it down to his inner thigh, watched it spring back up

He carried me, my legs wrapped around him, and moved in and out of me, stroked me as he walked around the room.

His sexual movements were smoother than warm butter, creative, musical, and right away he became a conductor who directed the performance and moans of his one-woman orchestra with his dick. I sang like a choir.

He dropped his towel. He showed me what I had gotten myself into, what wanted to get into me.

My sounds encouraged his tongue to torture me. . . . Without embarrassment he sucked me like I was a man . . . . Glanced up at me as I looked down at him. . . . Then put all of his tongue deep inside me again. I lost it. People in planes, and on Century, Sepulveda, and Airport boulevards, heard my sexual pleas.

You're a pretty woman.""I'm almost as pretty as that silver wedding ring on your left hand.