("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The B.J. Cafe 
by Feebofile (feebofile@hotmail.com)

***

Marissa works at a diner where she gets exploited by 
everyone, from the customers to the cook. After fucking 
and sucking them all, she gets hers back. (M+/F-teen, 
reluc, oral, anal)

***

Marissa Ellis only took the job at BJ's because they 
were the only place that would hire a 17-year-old with 
no questions asked. It was a shitty waitressing job in 
a shitty part of town, which is exactly where she 
lived, but still, it was a shit hole.

A year ago, she would never have imagined she'd be 
doing this. She was an honor roll student at Saint 
Gregory Prep and dating Brad, the hottest basketball 
player at school. Her problems really started when she 
decided to let him fuck her. Her parents had raised her 
Catholic and she was planning to save herself for 
marriage, but she loved him and wanted him to be happy.

The problem, of course, was that she fucking loved it. 
She loved his cock, she loved getting fucked, and 
sometimes he was fucking her two or three times a day, 
in the school bathrooms or in the teacher's lounge 
after he had basketball practice.

The team made it to the state competition and Brad was 
gone for a week, which meant nobody was around to fuck 
her. Well, at least, nobody that she was supposed to be 
fucking, anyway. After finger-fucking herself for the 
first two days, she got cock-lonely and started 
scheming to see who'd boink her for a few days until 
Brad got back.

She was at the library after school making a list of 
people who might be willing but would keep their mouth 
shut. She had just eliminated just about everyone off 
the list when some guy sat down in the cubicle next to 
her and started chatting her up. Normally, she'd tell 
the perv to go fuck himself, but her horniness took 
over and before she knew it, she was back at his 
apartment, kneeling on his bed, and getting the dick 
that she craved.

They fucked, he ate her out, and then he fucked her 
again. Brad wouldn't ever lick her pussy, and she loved 
it even more than getting her cunt plowed. Afterwards, 
he took her out to dinner at this fancy Italian 
restaurant. Brad never did that, either. 

He told her all sorts of shit that she should have been 
too smart to believe, like how his name was Henry Shell 
and he was the 23-year-old heir to the Shell company 
fortune. It never really occurred to her that someone 
who was actually rich might drive a nicer car than a 
Toyota Camry, or that people on Boards of Directors of 
Fortune 500 companies don't troll public libraries for 
teenage girls on the weekdays.

She broke up with Brad the next day, and over the next 
two weeks, she fell in love with Henry. He bought her 
flowers every day and they fucked so often that she 
could barely walk. He was the one who introduced her to 
beer and anal, both on the same night, and not by 
coincidence. She fell asleep afterwards, and didn't 
wake up until the next morning.

The shitstorm that hit when she went home in the 
morning woke up half the neighborhood. It was clear 
that Marissa hadn't been at the library, which is what 
she told her parents, and because her parents had 
called every single one of her friends frantically 
looking for her, she couldn't say she slept over at 
someone's house.

Her parents were so mad they couldn't even think of an 
appropriate punishment. Their little girl came back 
home in the morning, smelling of beer and unable to 
walk straight. She was not only grounded, but they 
thought about calling the priest to come over and do an 
exorcism.

They never got the chance.

Marissa packed two skirts, four shirts, and all her 
underwear into her school bag and skipped school after 
third period. She took the bus downtown to Henry's 
place and he picked her up from the bus stop. He gave 
her a sympathy fuck and let her stay at his place.

He convinced her to drop out of school and emancipate 
herself from her parents. They didn't contest the legal 
move, and didn't say goodbye when the court proceedings 
were over. That night, they went home, and fucked for a 
good part of the night.

Considering they had been fucking without any 
protection at least once a day for the past four 
months, it was a wonder she hadn't got pregnant 
earlier. Marissa assumed that he would marry her at 
that point; when he balked, things started going 
downhill. She became increasingly possessive of him, 
and found out that he wasn't really on Pfizer's Board 
of Directors when she followed him to work at a tuna 
fish factory one day.

His name wasn't Henry Shell, and it wasn't Henry at 
all. She didn't even find out that last bit until after 
he had kicked her out and she had reported him to the 
police. He was Larry Rumsfeld, 36, and had a warrant 
out for his arrest for molesting teenage girls at 
Disneyworld in Florida. Marissa hadn't wanted him to 
actually go away, she just wanted the police to go and 
scare him a little bit, but once they found out who he 
was, she was pushed aside as they charged in.

Now she was two months pregnant in a shitty apartment 
in the shittiest part of town with no money and nobody 
who would help her. Her parents refused to talk to her, 
and all her old friends wanted nothing to do with her 
either. She couldn't go back to school because she 
didn't have an address, and she couldn't use her 
parents because she was emancipated.

Henry - no, Larry - was not only poor, but he actually 
was in debt. Two thugs showed up at the apartment one 
night around 3am. What Marissa should have done is 
pretend she had never heard of a Larry Rumsfeld. Her 
explanation that he was in jail didn't convince the 
hardened collectors, and they ended up raping her 
before taking anything of Larry's that wasn't bolted 
down.

She had a miscarriage the next morning. It was probably 
due to one of the thugs punching her in the stomach to 
get her to bend over. Marissa curled up in a little 
ball on the floor, cum and blood leaking out of her 
pussy, and cried her eyes out. How did it come to this? 
How did she fuck things up so badly?

Marissa started looking for a job. Rufus, her neighbor 
and crack dealer, offered her a job transporting little 
vials of crack in her ass, but not surprisingly, she 
turned him down. Ever since Larry disappeared, he was a 
real pain in the ass, following her around and 
harassing her.

At first she tried looking in the nicer parts of town, 
since they paid more, but she was underage, nobody 
would hire her. She tried shittier and shittier places 
until she was left with BJ's. It was only three blocks 
from Larry's apartment, right beside the freeway. The 
owner's name was actually BJ, and he made all the 
waitresses wear these tight little orange dresses to 
attract the truckers. He was rarely around himself, he 
was one of these guys that owned about a zillion 
different places and just let them run themselves.

The worst part of the job wasn't that the truckers 
would smack her ass as she walked by, or that they'd 
try to cop a feel whenever she leaned over the table. 
The worst part was that she actually enjoyed the 
attention. Sometimes, she had to go to the bathroom and 
masturbate in the middle of the day in order to stop 
her pussy from getting too wet. She'd go home with any 
one of the men in a second if she thought she was ever 
going to be more than just a one-night play toy for 
them. They all had wives and children and houses in the 
suburbs, and she doubted she'd ever have that for 
herself.

Marissa showed herself to be a diligent waitress and 
much friendlier than most of the other washed-up drug 
addicts that were employed there. BJ asked her to move 
to the night shift, and Marissa accepted. The obvious 
benefit was that the money was much more stable -- the 
restaurant would pay her a time and a half plus double 
all her tips since there were fewer customers. Working 
nights also meant that she'd be walking home in the 
morning rather than late at night.

Sometimes, the customer base was so thin that she was 
able to bring a book or two and study for her GED. 
Frequently, around 3 or 4 am, it'd just be her and the 
cook, Gary, who was this big fat black guy. They'd 
shoot the shit and complain about the asshole 
customers. Eventually, they got to know each other well 
enough so that he asked about her past.

Marissa answered as vaguely as possible, telling him 
that she had dropped out of school and that she was 
hoping to get her GED and save up enough for community 
college, which is why she took the night shift job. 
Gary laughed and asked her how long that was going to 
take.

Marissa shook her head. At the rate she was going, 
she'd be well into her 20's before she could afford any 
sort of school. Gary suggested stripping. Marissa 
thought he was joking at first, but he was dead 
serious.

"Purty little girlies like you can make a hell of a 
buck," he explained. "Ya gotta be 18, though."

Marissa didn't insult him by pretending she was 18. She 
knew she could probably get some fake ID, but the part 
that really scared her was not knowing what to do if 
she got onstage.

Gary suggested they close down the restaurant and she 
could practice a little bit with him in the kitchen. 
Marissa figured why not. After all, Gary was probably 
as harmless as she was going to find, and she trusted 
his opinion. They closed the front doors and went into 
the kitchen, where Gary put on the radio and then 
pulled his dick out of his pants.

Marissa asked him why and he said it was a way for her 
to tell whether she was being sexy or not. She was 
amazed at how big he was - nearly 8 inches long and 
probably three inches around. His dick was already a 
little hard when she started a slow bump & grind, 
gyrating her hips and pressing her crotch up against 
the corner of the cutting counter.

Gary gave her tips and pointers as she flashed her 
panties and bra-covered boobs. She watched his dick 
grow bigger and bigger until she finally took her 
entire uniform off. The song ended and some commercials 
came on the radio, so she figured it was a good 
stopping point.

Gary's dick was still jutting out of his pants, and 
since she figured she owed him for the lesson, Marissa 
wordlessly walked up to him, knelt in front of him, and 
worked his dick with her slender hands until he came 
all over her chest and bra. They cleaned up together 
and then re-opened the restaurant, and nothing else 
happened for the rest of the night.

The next few nights were busy, and they didn't get a 
chance to practice any more until the weekend. Marissa 
brought one of her nice black miniskirts and a white 
blouse from home, and she practiced again. She was 
definitely more comfortable this time around, and 
Gary's dick got hard within a minute. She had to stop 
in the middle to give him his handjob because he was 
visibly squirming in his seat, and finished her 
striptease with a big load of cum on her chest, which 
got him hard again by the time she finished.

A few nights later, Gary told Marissa that he was going 
to spring for a gift -- fake documentation. He had a 
friend in the government who owed him $500 from a poker 
game, and Gary called in his debt. Marissa got a new 
last name and a Social Security number.

"Marissa Gonzales?" she asked incredulously, as she 
opened the little brown bag.

"I thought you might be Hispanic," Gary laughed.

Marissa laughed along with Gary. She was actually one-
quarter Hispanic, and had long brown hair with brown 
eyes. The two of them celebrated by hitting up a 
Baskin-Robbins before heading to work.

Marissa had Wednesday off, so she took the bus out to 
the only strip club in town -- Peeping Tom's, just 
outside the county line. She wished that Gary could 
come with her since she felt safer with him by her 
side, but he had to work double-shifts on Wednesdays.

The interior of the club was dark and musty. The place 
smelled of booze and cigarettes, and the few patrons 
who were there on a Wednesday afternoon gave her the 
once-over as she walked in. A joyless dancer was 
wiggling on stage, and she had to walk the full length 
of the bar to get to the manager's office.

Marissa brought a resume, but the manager, Wes, sort of 
chuckled as she handed it to him. Most girls didn't 
bring resumes to these sorts of interviews. He put it 
on his desk and asked to see her moves. Marissa was a 
little nervous, especially since he didn't have any 
music on, and she knew he wasn't exactly pleased from 
his disinterest.

"Well, thank you, Miss Gonzales, but we're not really 
looking for any more performers right now," he said.

Marissa grew angry. Not because he didn't want her, but 
because for once in her life she was good at something 
and she wasn't being given credit for it.

"Wait," she said, "I could show you some more."

"How much more?" he asked. He was no stranger to this 
game, and half the girls in the establishment got their 
jobs by blowing him. Marissa was a terrible dancer, but 
she was beautiful, and he certainly wouldn't turn down 
a little lap dance and a blowjob from a hot 19-year-
old. She looked even younger than that.

Marissa showed him exactly how much more. She started 
by taking off her panties from underneath her pleated 
jean skirt, and then removing her bra. Wes helped her 
out by queuing up some songs on his desktop computer. 
Marissa danced her heart out, bending over frequently 
to show him her exposed cunt. Eventually, she made her 
way onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. 
She could feel his cock through his pants and dryhumped 
him for several minutes until she came quietly.

Dismounting him, she knelt down between his legs and 
fished his dick out from his pants. Lowering her lips, 
she sucked his dick for a few seconds before he spurted 
into her mouth.

Marissa swallowed his bitter cum and tucked his dick 
back into his pants.

"I'll have to open a new position, which means I need 
to owner's approval," he commented, as he tried to wipe 
up the wet spot on his crotch. "Otherwise, you'll have 
to wait until a spot opens up."

He handed Marissa a box of Kleenex and told her to make 
herself presentable while he talked with the owner next 
door. Wes seriously thought about hiring her. After 
all, that was probably the hottest lap dance he had 
ever gotten, and the big bucks were in the private 
shows anyway.

Marissa wiped off the sweat from her face and chest, 
and then put her undergarments back on. Had she just 
whored herself out for a job? Was he going to expect 
this regularly from now on? Shit.

She had run through the calculation a million times in 
her head, but she started thinking about the money 
again because it made her happy. A few hundred a night 
might as well have been a million dollars to her. She 
was barely making $80 a night at the cafe. She could 
even move into a better place and save more money than 
she was doing now.

"Miss Gonzales? The owner wants to talk with you."

Marissa whirled around, and her jaw dropped. It was BJ, 
the owner of the cafe. He came in and sat down in Wes's 
chair, and then nodded to Wes to get him to leave.

"Miss Gonzales," he started, as he tapped his finger on 
her resume. "Or should I call you Miss Ellis?"

"G-Gonzales," Marissa stammered. "My last name is 
Gonzales."

"Then why did you apply as Marissa Ellis?"

"I don't know."

"So your name is Marissa Gonzales?"

"Yes."

"You have documentation?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

Marissa handed him her driver's license and he walked 
out of the room. The seconds ticked by like minutes, 
and to Marissa it seemed like hours before BJ came 
back. In reality, it was probably less than two 
minutes. BJ knew exactly who to call to get his 
information, and came back to Marissa with a scowl on 
his face.

"This is fake."

"No," Marissa protested, "I just-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" shouted BJ. Marissa had never seen 
him so mad before. Generally, when he was around the 
cafe, he was jovial and kind. He seemed a lot stricter 
here, maybe because the rules were a little tighter.

"Marissa," BJ explained, "How do you think Gary knows 
Bruce Jefferson?"

"Who?"

"Bruce Jefferson, the man at the SSA who set all this 
up for you?"

Marissa was speechless.

"We all play in the same goddamn poker game!" BJ 
shouted as he slammed his hand down on the desk. 
"Listen, I was willing to help you out a little. You 
needed a job and I needed a waitress. I know you were 
underage but I was willing to overlook it because you 
weren't so fucking dumb as to try using fake ID. Now I 
catch you with a fake ID and fake Social Security 
number and I've got a fucking legal responsibility to 
turn your ass into the feds!"

Marissa couldn't hold it in any more and just started 
bawling. BJ threw the box of Kleenex at her and called 
her a fucking bitch. He paced around, thinking, while 
Marissa blotted her eyes dry. All her eyeshadow and 
glittery makeup ended up on the tissues.

"I've got no choice," BJ concluded. "I have to turn you 
in. Wes knows too much, he could turn me in if I don't 
report you. You're not going to get employment here and 
you're fired from the cafe as well. I'm going to have a 
little chat with Gary too."

He started to walk out of the door but Marissa lunged 
at him, grabbing his arm and pushing him against the 
file cabinets.

"Please ... please!" Marissa begged. "Please! I'll suck 
your dick! I'll let you fuck me! Just let me keep the 
job at the cafe and leave Gary alone."

BJ didn't immediately push her away, so she took that 
as acceptance of her proposal and dropped to her knees. 
BJ was still pissed off at her, and fucked her mouth 
and throat roughly. He slapped her once when her 
sobbing caused her to scratch his dick with her teeth, 
and grabbed her hair to force her head back and forth. 
He pulled out before cumming in her face, deliberately 
trying to get some into her eyes and hair.

"Get the fuck out of here," ordered BJ. "It's going to 
cost me at least $5,000 to keep Wes quiet about this, 
so I expect that you're going to work it all off next 
time I drop by the cafe."

Marissa didn't even hear anything besides the fact that 
she still had her job at the cafe. She grabbed her fake 
documentation and left. None of the customers seemed to 
notice the crying, cum-covered girl running out of the 
strip club.

BJ didn't show up that night, but he showed up the next 
night around 2am. Gary had already warned Marissa about 
how pissed off BJ was. Because the strip club was 
subjected to heightened scrutiny, even just applying 
with a fake ID could trigger some nasty audits.

"He's outta git you, girl," he cautioned.

BJ wasn't in the restaurant for more than 30 seconds 
when he ordered Marissa to come over and suck his dick. 
She wrote out the check for a few customers and then 
followed BJ to the back corner. He had (thankfully) 
laid out a nice table with a long tablecloth, which 
allowed her to get underneath the table and start 
fellating him without exposing herself. Gary brought 
out a nice thick steak and a beer for BJ, and then BJ 
started eating. It took him nearly half an hour to cum 
because he wasn't even focusing on his dick. Marissa 
swallowed his thick semen and then got back to waiting 
tables. Two people had left without paying, and BJ made 
her pay their bill out of her own pocket.

True to Gary's warning, BJ started coming around fairly 
frequently. At first it was every other day, but soon 
he settled into a twice-a-week routine. If there were 
no customers around, BJ would make Marissa kneel on the 
floor in the middle of the restaurant and blow him with 
the door unlocked. If they were around, he'd make her 
do it underneath a table.

It was inevitable that sooner or later someone would 
catch them. That it took nearly 4 weeks for it to 
happen was the real miracle. One night nobody had come 
in since about 1:30. BJ came by at 3, and got out the 
dishtowel to pad Marissa's knees. She was slurping away 
and just brought BJ to orgasm when two truckers walked 
in. Instinctively, she pulled away and tried to stand 
up, but all that meant was that his sticky load ended 
up on the front of her uniform instead of in her mouth.

"HEY GIRLIE! CAN I GET SOME OF THAT TOO?" one of the 
truckers yelled.

"I DON'T SEE IT ON THE MENU, IT MUST BE A SPECIAL!" the 
other laughed.

Marissa ran into the back to change her uniform while 
BJ zipped up and casually went to counting the cash 
register. Fortunately, there was a spare one in the 
back, and she made sure there were no traces of sperm 
on her face or hair before walking back out.

At first, she just ignored the comments from the two 
truckers. They asked her how good she was at sucking 
dick, and whether she got off on it. They asked her for 
a repeat performance, but she just smiled and told them 
she'd bring their food right out. She had sucked enough 
dick to last her a lifetime, but she was really itching 
for a good fuck. Did she dare? Could she start whoring 
herself out to customers at a greasy diner?

No, she told herself, she had to maintain some self-
respect. She went to the bathroom and masturbated 
furiously. I'm not a fucking hooker, she reminded 
herself.

The two customers left her a $10 tip but made sure to 
hand it to her personally and tell her there's plenty 
more "tip" for a "girl who's willing to earn her 
money". She watched them walk out the door, and was a 
little surprised when she heard Gary's voice right 
behind her.

"I dunno why ya do this shit," he commented.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Ya turn down money for doing what ya wanna be doin' 
anyway."

"I'm not a hooker!" Marissa exclaimed.

"Yeah, but why not?" Gary questioned, "Every time one 
of these fuckers roughs you up, you end up in the 
bathroom diddling yourself anyway. If you're going to 
get off on it, ya might as well get paid, y'know what 
I'm saying?"

Marissa was a little shocked, but she realized he could 
probably hear her through the ventilation since the 
kitchen was right next to the ladies' room. She 
shrugged him off and got back to work, but she started 
thinking about dicks more and more. The idea of fucking 
for money really seemed wrong, but Gary's word kind of 
had merit -- she was getting off on it anyway.

A few nights later, one of the customers pulled her 
down onto his lap and planted a huge kiss on her neck 
before letting her go. She pretended to disapprove, but 
even before they had left, she was planning her next 
masturbation session. However, since they were the last 
customers for quite possibly a while, she quietly 
locked the door and reached under the counter where she 
had stashed a few condoms.

All she could think about was Gary's big, thick cock, 
and he didn't object when she showed up at the kitchen 
door with her panties around her ankles telling him to 
fuck her. He sat down on a chair and rolled the condom 
on, and just watched as the 16-year-old bounced up and 
down on his lap. She came twice before he even got off 
once, and since he didn't soften even a bit after his 
orgasm, she kept riding him until they both came one 
more time.

She pulled off the rubber and kissed his gooey 
pricktip, then tucked his dick away and cleaned up.

Things started to change between Marissa and Gary after 
that incident, and not for the better. Gary started to 
demand more and more from Marissa. At first it was a 
little playful, just trying to cajole her into having 
sex with him. But he did it so often she really did 
start to feel like she should be charging him.

One day, he demanded that she let him fuck her while 
she was blowing BJ. The two men bent her over a stool 
at the counter, with BJ sitting down and getting blown 
while Gary hammered into her from behind. For the first 
time in her life, Marissa was totally unaroused during 
an actual sex act. Neither Gary nor BJ seemed to 
notice, or they didn't care. They just kept pounding 
into her until they came, and then walked off without a 
thank-you.

Marissa began to plan her escape, but in order to get 
enough money to start over, she had to plan things out 
a little bit. The first thing she did was agree to 
start blowing customers for money. They had to wear 
condoms and she gave Gary a 10% cut to make sure there 
wasn't any funny business. She kept a close watch on 
where he hid his money.

As word spread, people started showing up by the 
droves. Ten people showed up the next night, and 
Marissa's jaw was pretty sore by the end of the night. 
She anticipated a full house the next night with $50 
each, plus BJ, who usually carried a few hundred on 
him, so there'd be at least two thousand dollars in the 
restaurant. Gary winning the poker pool that night was 
simply icing on the cake, as he had an extra $1,500 in 
cash.

The plan went off without a hitch. She feigned 
ignorance as to why there were so many people in the 
restaurant, and made sure to seat a few customers in 
the back room so that BJ had to wait for his BJ. She 
also made sure the register was nice and full so that 
BJ felt compelled to squirrel some money into the safe 
in the back.

As soon as he started walking for the safe, Marissa 
brought out her gun and followed him into the back 
room.

"Is that thing loaded?" was all BJ asked. Marissa 
nodded.

The gun was courtesy of one of her "customers" -- the 
night before she told him to bring a cop outfit and an 
unloaded .22. There was a box of .22 ammunition behind 
the counter, left over from a few years ago when BJ 
used to keep a gun behind the counter. Two other 
customers had brought her pairs of handcuffs, and after 
handcuffing the sniffling, wheezing BJ to the radiator 
in the back room and emptying the safe into her 
handbag, she went into the kitchen and did the same to 
Gary.

"Thanks for helping me out, Gary, but you've become a 
real fucking asshole recently," she explained. She 
helped herself to his poker winnings and a $300 stash 
of pimp money, and then moved him into the back room 
and handcuffed him to the radiator with BJ.

She then changed into her old cheerleading outfit and 
strutted out to the main restaurant and one by one, 
pulled down the blinds. The restaurant was dead quiet 
as Marissa explained simply what was going on.

"If you want to leave, now is the time," she said, with 
an evil grin. "Otherwise, it's going to cost you $50 to 
stay. Oh, and you're going to need your own condom, or 
you can buy one from me for $10."

As they lined up to hand over their money, Marissa was 
hit with a bolt of inspiration, and she improvised a 
little.

"There is a new dress code being enforced in this 
restaurant," she announced. "Nobody gets to wear 
underwear... including me."

She reached down underneath her little orange pleated 
skirt and wiggled out of her panties. The men cheered 
and they were almost tripping over themselves to strip.

Stupid fuckers.

As soon as all the money was in her hand, over $1,200, 
Marissa calmly put the money into her bag and pulled 
out her gun. Before she said anything, she fired a shot 
into the middle of the ceiling.

"I have 5 bullets left," she bluffed, "I can't shoot 
you all, but you better ask yourself whether it's worth 
the $50."

She scooped up all the pants that were within reach, 
and then backed herself out of the restaurant. She 
called up Rufus and sold him all the credit cards she 
had for a lump sum of $500, making sure to use one of 
the customer's cell phones just to make sure the police 
nabbed him as a final fuck-you. The total haul was just 
under $6,000 -- not enough to retire, but enough to get 
her on her feet again.

For the next two years, every time she passed by a cop, 
her heart skipped a beat.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 61