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"Ten."  Her voice is sharp; matter of fact. The vibration of each letter crawls across my freshly shaved mound. "Nine."  New Year's Eve and I lay here exposed. The tatters of my shirt tickle against my heated flesh with each movement. My nipples extend, kissed by the cool air that surrounds us, punctuating that growing ache. Whatever is left of my boxers lay hooked around my ankle.

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