Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective...They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair...Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become.

You could have fucked me __il your uncut, overexposed on the blogs, __oo ginormous for my snatch_ pecker fell off. And I__ still no way never ever in a thousand years sell, loan, sample you my Easton. And to answer your question, I run my company with my pussy, and twenty-four other pussy-sporting employees. Easton girls do not allow dickheads or cocks in our fashion world. Period.

I would praise the Lord above for a ticket to that ride.

Let me put it this way. You, my beautiful girl, have the power to really hurt me, with how I feel about you. Far more than anyone else ever has or ever could. I don__ know if you realize that.

It was everything I hoped it would be. I want you to know I would have waited another sixteen years to be able to feel that with you again.

I should have trusted you_the woman I fell in love with.