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Memories aren't the same as living the event.They're jammed into my head all the same though, pushing my ownlimited memories about. It's like mixing c...lours and whites in thewash, everything all bleeding together when you know they should beseparate. It's a bad analogy but, well, there it is. I know they'rereal even though I didn't live them. They aren't mine. But they are.And they sit together with mine. Like I said, weird.For example this morning whilst I was having my basket weaving. He started the car and drove off to work, wondering what Jane had gotten him into now.When Jane and her parents arrived at the cabin they were wilted from the heat and the long drive. Despite their early start there had still been a great deal of traffic and the directions to the cabin had been less than precise so it had been nearly noon when they finally got there.The cabin had been closed up since the previous winter and was dark and musty inside but once they got the shutters off and opened. She looked confused. "What is going on here? You almost act like you are telepathically in communication with your mother's computer."Mark patted her rear end and squeezed her close to him. "That's an approximation to what's happening. I'll explain and give you a demonstration later, as soon as we get this matter settled." Mark tried to figure out not only how to explain to her, but how much to tell her. The secrecy was hard to get used to. Before this Mark had always been honest and open with. He began to jack off frantically. "No," Peggy moaned. "Don't jack it off!" Johnny lifted his wet face, but his eyes remained on his mother's cunt. Peggy arched up, twisting her hips. "Now, Johnny, now!" Johnny moved close, and pressed the swollen head of his cock into his mother's fiery cunt. "Ohhhh, yes! " Peggy wailed, and shot her hips up. She wrapped her armsaround his shoulders, pulling his young face into her tits. She lifted her legs high, then closed them about his waist,.
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