Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Languid, languid, languid

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  1. boy in the kimono -- ripe, not wrought.

  2. A nice little furry crack is always a pleasure!

  3. Always assuming one knows what you mean, dear Glen, then one "knows what you mean." For instance, we mightn't countenance such a thing between the tines of a salad fork, I suppose? But you know, what gets me, Glen, is the absent inundation of remark that such vortices used to elicit among gentlemen. I don't suppose there's some sort of male holiday that we don't know about? Even, dare I say, my admittedly jejune (and, I hope, incurable) attachment to the staggeringly sporting terrain of the torso facing away from us, should have drawn more than one gasp from the woodwork. Do you suppose everyone's off at weddings, the usual excuse for a torpid September? Mind you, I'll strike you a deal: we can appeal to the Chair to revisit Mr Diggs' estimable seam (this was, I think, the image of your reference?) and these moguls of thrilling persistence and progresively moderating defile in the torso above-mentioned, sometime after All Saints Day, when a reasonable quorum might be convened. And then we might discover these salubrious sites anew, while catching up on the news of our Assembly's dispersal.


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