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It started far away, but then people on the escalator started doing it and then some people who had just come down to the platform joined in. I looked at Kate. We didn’t need to say ‘what was that’, because it was blindingly obvious. London has had its share of bombings. This was another one.I stood there, hunched over a stroller, almost frozen. What the hell do you do in a situation like that?“Tunnel,” said Kate.“No. Not yet. Trains are still running.”At that moment, the lights on the platform went out. Not all of them, because a thin rail of LED ceiling lights, no doubt powered by a local battery, flicked on. The bright, slightly warm light was replaced by a bluish, sickly hue.“Fuck this,” said the man stood in the maintenance hole of the escalator. He put his hands on the floor next to him and hoisted himself up. His left leg found purchase on something and in a split second he was out the hole and ran up the non-functional escalator ahead of him, leaving behind his toolbox and. I had a sudden desire to make him cum. I turned my body and he did nothing to stop me likeI thought he would. He sat back and watched me turn around. I looked down at his raginghard on. It was slick with wetness and veins spidered down his shaft and dissapearedinto his thick black hair around his balls. Then to my surprise I found myself pushinghim down onto the bed with my hands. I wondered who this woman was. It wasn't me. It was thewoman he had forced into sex. It's not my fault I thought. He made me feel this way.Its still rape. He smiled at me but I could not yet smile back at him. He lay onhis back willingly and I positioned myself on the side of him so I could take hiscock into my mouth and help him cum quicker. "I knew you wanted my cock." he said as he lay on his back. He put his arms behindhis head to get comfortable. I couldn't believe what I was doing. For a moment I pausedwhile I sat on the side of him. My loins ached with a a wanting I have never felt before.I.
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.. I am ready to answer those questions now,” a voice came from the living room.We walked into the room. Her dad sat back down, looking at the sports section.She cleared her throat, too loudly.“Yes, dear – it works for your mother as well. Go ahead.”Becky started, “Mr. Knowles, we are doing a Research project, and we have a series of questions to ask you. If there’s anything you don’t want to answer, it’s OK.”“Go ahead.”“Since you are a boy, how old were you when you first met a girl that you think you liked?” she asked.“Hmmmm let me think. I was ... ten when I met Sandra what’s her name. Next?”“How old were you when you first met a girl that you think liked you?” I asked.“Nine years old,” he said sounding proud of himself.Becky went on, “The next couple of questions are quite personal, don’t answer if you don’t want -- At what age did you go through puberty?”As with Norah, this one surprised her dad. After thinking about it, he answered, “I was almost eleven, not quite.”She looked.

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