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"Hey Dee, I'll be right with you." He continued typing on the computer. "And done!" He struck the last few keys as if he he driving home a point. I noticed a pizza delivery box, sitting on his bookcase. "I don't know why, but Chuck thought I would be a good idea if we had lunch here. He even ordered us a pizza." He pulled the pizza over to us. Pulling plates from his drawer, he began to quiz me. "So why would Chuck think that we would need privacy for lunch? I mean, he sounded so serious. Didn't even flinch when I called him Chuck instead of Charles." He knows that I have something important to tell you." I reached for a plate snd laid a slice of pizza on it. "I did not come here just for a vacation and to visit you and Marissa. But you have probably already guessed that, since I have not been spending much time with you." I felt quite flush by now. "I came to look for a new job." I waited for a reaction. "Bret and I finalized our divorce last month." Sam set back in chair waiting to. He tried to put his Las Vegas experience out of his head as he headed back home to Chicago. In high school, Jerry knew enough to keep his head down, avoid sports and get medical exemptions that would spare him from gym classes and keep him out of the boys’ locker room. He was afraid if he was caught with his pants down, so to speak, he’d revert to a submissive state of mind. Unfortunately, his avoiding being seen undressed just made other guys suspicious about Jerry’s sexual preference or at least that he was afraid to be naked among guys. In other words, either gay or a sissy.So some guys did call him a sissy to his face and worse behind his back. A few girls joined in subtle teasing and not so subtle pranks at Jerry’s expense. Those included trying to pull his pants down in the school hallway. On their first attempt, Jerry managed to dodge them. He ran away but strangely found himself wishing that they’d caught him.On the girls’ second attempt they failed again. But again Jerry felt.
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From the supermarket five blocks southbound down the highway and around the bends of the suburban neighborhood to 301 NW 3rd Avenue came a lime-green Volkswagen Beetle. When they pulled up, the postal worker was just departing from the O’Hanlons’ mailbox. Seeing that the mail had arrived, Donna slammed into park, jumped out and scrambled for it. Valerie stepped out of the car carefully, so as not to get trampled in Donna’s path, and hefted the not exactly lighter than air grocery bags. She was just about to ask for a little help, when she heard Donna scream in excitement. ‘Aah!’ she shrieked. ‘OMIGOD! It came, it came, it came, it came, it CAAAAAAME!’ She bolted to the door like a five-year-old on Christmas morning, fumbling for the correct key. ‘Uh, Don—’ Valerie started to say before she heard the screen door slap shut. Ohhh-kay. Guess I’ll lock the car later, she thought, pushing the Beetle’s door shut with her toes and lugging the groceries in. Once Valerie finally, convolutedly.

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