Fiction | December 01, 1996
The Last Time I Saw Richard
Marshall N. Klimasewiski
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They were irresistable, each in her own way, each in her middle thirties, counting down, each with deep, untapped maternal stores. In fact, they were too maternal to make good lovers; or maybe hewas too . . . something. Oedipal? Sensitive? Accustomed to raunchy approach?
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