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Subject: Dear Neighbor Gay Adult-Youth Dear Neighbor �MCVT2017 Friday, September 13, 2019 Vignette; a tease. Revealing note between neighbors. Tease your wallet out and make a donation to Nifty fty/donate.html 100% Fiction, Adult Content: Mb. ============================================================================= Dear Mr. F., I heard you yesterday. I heard you call him your little minim, your “wiggly polliwog.” His fingers are smaller than the black keys — you let him touch your hallowed harpsicord? I heard you blowing skin bubbles on his neck, then biting him sweetly before you kissed. I heard him cooing as başakşehir escort he sat on your lap with his bare feet rubbing along the satiny lining inside your smoking jacket. I saw you. I saw you give him extra jam on his scone. I saw that, and you know what sugar does to a boy. He’ll become a drunk, go into a life of crime — probably politics. Then you took him upstairs to play naked hidey games before your afternoon lay-down. I saw you fling the French doors open and disappear into your dark bedroom while he sang his alphabet song. I smelled the baby oil. Don’t try to tell me it was powder either. halkalı escort I know exactly what you were up to. I know what you’re doing. I know you already promised to take him to the Shellman for lunch; that’s your MO. Hovering, doting, without words. The lightest of touches, reassuring smiles — you’re nothing but a snake in the grass with a bag of jet-puffed marshmallows in the nightstand ready to ease your minim into a full bar of squeals. I know you’re gonna do it if you haven’t already. I know you and your “stinky-boy bath time” routine. I heard you telling him about a great judge that kept şirinevler escort boys on their “sometimes straight and not so narrow” path to success. Your upbringing didn’t include any fairy tales? Why does he keep going back to your place? I gave him graham crackers, all he wanted. Told him about Desert Storm, Venezuela’s backwoods, all the exciting stuff that would certainly make a polliwog quiver. I can’t seem to clinch the deal. Don’t tell me I’m afraid of a 49-inch elf — I’ve faced devils bigger’n him so I’ve been refining my strategies. Send him over next time you’re done with him, I got Fizzies and cocoanut butter. Yep, it’ll be fun. Your neighbor at 6601, G. Meade P.S. Should my pluck lapse again, would you consider allowing me to mount a security camera under your veranda? We must be vigilant in keeping the unprincipled riff-raff out of the neighborhood. Fin Neighbors