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A true-life When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong.
Dear "John:" I just can't go down on something so small. I mean your about as hung as one of those cicadas that are poppin up all over town. And quit complaining about my fees. You said you would rather give me the money than to your wife or the collection plate at church. Are you still a Deacon? I can be kinky as hell but having you eat the sloppy seconds from my regulars is beyond the pale - unless you wish to taste the drippings of Bubba, Tyrone, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, to name a few. Or, perhaps I could relent and let you lap it up after I have taken on the football team and the band which I do on a regular basis. And if you don't like my prices, go somewhere else for your sexual escapades. And know this, I as a hooker make more money than a drug dealer since I can wash my crack and sell it again and again.