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Feelings aren’t wrong. Feelings are never wrong. Feelings always tell the truth, and it’s okay for you to feel how you feel. I’m Brunette not judging you. You’re brave for masturbation telling me this. Thank you for telling me this. Not judging her. A powerful, lovely, kind, understanding, wise black woman was not judging her for admitting that being raped by a black man (his big lips those long fingers that scratchy, woolly hair that HUGE THICK IT HURT ME dildo HURT ME DEEP GET OFF ME YOU FUCKING HORRIBLE DIRTY NIG—) —made it all much, much worse. It’s not you, Georgetta had babe said. It’s not your fault those thoughts, those feelings, are inside of you. You’ve been given those messages since you were born. Those messages were placed in you, installed in you, without your consent. It’s a script, a script of modern America. A script of programming, of automatic thoughts, of thoughts that think us instead of us thinking them. It’s not your fault, those thoughts. Laurie had said, They’re not? But I’m thinking them— Georgetta: They’re thinking you. Those thoughts happen to you, not by you. Laurie so wanted to believe it was not her fault to think such awful, hateful things. (Don’t you touch me you FUCKING NI–) I can help you, said Georgetta. We can help you. The pamphlet on the table, and the card stapled to the pamphlet, explained how Georgetta was going pussy to help Laurie. Laurie, drowning in herself, took up the pamphlet and read it again. Please. Please, save my life. Save me from myself. You will save yourself, Georgetta had said. You will take your power back. You will discover how powerful you really are. In a white room, next to what looked like a dentist’s chair, sat a table. On the table was a helmet that would cover an entire head down to the neck and shoulders. We made the potato salad and bought some fried chicken and masturbation Jello salad. “I won’t say a thing to dildo anyone. Pardon my academic sense of humor. "No, it's, well, we like it kinda like that," Embla said. Her hair was light, a mix of gray and brown, and growing babe from her scalp was a pair of curled horns, which I was using as a bookstand. A while later my tent zip started to inch upwards again so I told them to fuck off again. Don’t you mean when the shit hit the fan?” My boss said to Brunette take as much time as pussy I needed but to keep him updated after the holiday when the gym reopened. “I’m going to go clean up.” She says. We went back to the table carrying the Full English Breakfast on the plates. corset reached from just under Linda's tits to just above her hips. His cock tasted so good in my mouth, and I was getting so horny.