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Old July 18th, 2013, 07:46 PM
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The Gardener (Part 4)

Author's Note: I started to regret the titles I was giving to each part of this story because I don't have enough for all the chapters I'm planning. So they're just going to disappear. If you noticed them at all, pretend you didn't see them.

Thanks again for the comments and Thank Yous on Part 3. It was particularly nice to read about some of the emotional reactions people had. It is interesting and helpful to hear what readers are thinking and feeling in response to what I've written. You're a good audience.

The Gardener
by Reeza

Parts 1 and 2 : Part 3

Part 4

Whether it was intentional or not, I didn't see much of Sam for the next few weeks. He would wave at me when he was coming or going, and I was self-consciously enthusiastic when I waved back. I didn't want him to think I was uncomfortable with him, even though I was. I didn't want him to think it was because he was gay, even though it was.

I was always pretty uncomfortable around very handsome straight men, but now that I knew Sam was gay, he seemed supernaturally magnetic and dangerous to me. Why dangerous? Because even though I didn't think I would have a chance with a guy who looked like that, I felt that in a moment of weakness, I could sacrifice everything I had for one chance. He could control me if he wanted to. As you may have guessed, I preferred to be in control.

However, I had confidence in my self-discipline. If I could live in that college dormitory for a year and not get involved in anything, then I could control myself around one guy no matter how attractive he was. I also felt reassured by our age difference and my belief that he would never reciprocate my interest even if I expressed it, which would never happen. It wouldn't be appropriate. I would be accepting and supportive from a distance, like a kind uncle or something like that. That was my plan.

The snowstorm that led to my dinner with Sam had been the last major snowfall of the Winter. Now there were only a few patches of unmelted snow in shady places where Sam had piled it extra high. It was Spring. Snowdrops and crocuses were blooming around the edges of my garden, and my palms were getting itchy in anticipation of the growing season. I started driving past the plant nurseries like a stalker looking for his object of obsession. It was too early to plant anything, they didn't have any plants yet, and I didn't really need any more plants. But it wouldn't hurt to look. I looked at gardening catalogs the way other men looked at pornography, but I never purchased from catalogs. Didn't trust them.

On a sunny Saturday I decided it was time to put away the snow shovel and the bag of salt, so I opened up the second bay of the garage where my tenants would park their car, if they had one. Sam did not have a car, but I discovered that he was using the space for another purpose. He had a weight bench set up in the middle, with ponderous plates and dumbbells neatly arranged around the edges. I was wondering how he got such a large amount of iron in there without a vehicle when I heard him coming down the stairs from his apartment. I didn't know he was home. He was wearing soft cotton shorts and a gray t-shirt. I noticed that both garments hung over his form in wonderful ways. In my head I started chanting, "Self-control will save your soul," a catchy mantra I had invented for my situation.

"Hi, Adam. I hope you don't mind that I set up a weight bench in here. I suppose I should have asked you first."

"Not at all, Sam. It's your space. It comes with the apartment, so . . . as long as you're not cooking meth in here it's fine."

"I'm not cooking meth."

"I know. I was kidding. I have a dry sense of humor."

"I know. Me too." He formed a little smile and made his eyes twinkle.

I smiled too. Ice was broken. Then I said, "It certainly looks like you've been working out!" The angel on my shoulder shouted, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Thanks!" Sam replied with a bigger smile while absently caressing his chest. "I'm glad I ran into you. I've been meaning to ask if you would let me return the favor of your hospitality . . . if you would come to dinner upstairs some evening. I'm not much of a cook, but I'd be honored to have you join me." His manners were impeccable.

I dithered, "Oh, gosh, that's not necessary . . ." His face started to fall. "But I would be delighted to come. To join you, I mean."

He was happy again. "Great! Well, how about tomorrow? Are you free?"

I pictured my social calendar in my head - the vast white space of friendlessness. "Yeah, tomorrow would work. I can do that. Do you want me to bring anything?"

"No, I'll take care of everything. Just come over around six." He beamed at me. "Now I'm psyched!"

"Okay then. Six it is. I'm just going to put this shovel away. And this bag of salt."

"No, I'll get that." He rushed over and picked up the bag of salt with one hand. It was a 50 pound bag, almost full. He carried it as if it were a long stemmed rose. I saw his bicep fill his shirt sleeve and looked away quickly. He stowed the salt and the shovel, then brushed his hands against each other in the universal sign that means, "That's done." He looked at me standing there like a dummy. "I guess I'll get in a workout before I have to go to the restaurant."

"Yes! Of course," I said. "I have things to do in the house. I'll see you tomorrow." I scurried away like a chipmunk. Once inside the house I locked the door and decided I needed to masturbate. One never knows when the urge will strike. After all, it was Spring! I went up to my bedroom, flopped onto the bed and went to town on my junk. I could hear metallic clanks coming from the garage.

The next day I woke up feeling energetic. It was another sunny day, so I decided I would clear away the dead leaves and stems from my perennial borders. I opened my garden shed and brought out a few of my tools, a wheelbarrow, work gloves. I strapped my iPod to my arm, put in my ear buds and got to work while listening to some peppy Bach concertos for harpsichord. I was 'psyched.'

I often lost track of time in my garden. It didn't feel like work to me, so I just kept going, cleaning up the beds, hauling debris to the compost pile. I was kneeling next to the peony I planted the day my parents died, looking at the young shoots coming up among the dead stems, when a shadow passed over me. I looked up and saw Sam standing there. He looked like a giant from that perspective, with the sun behind him. I pulled my ear buds out.

"Hi. Watch ya doin'?" he said. He was wearing shorts again. I noticed the roundness of his calves and the dark hair on his shins. I started using my mantra.

"I'm just cleaning up the garden for Spring."

"So, all these areas are planted with different things?" He seemed genuinely interested. His feet in leather sandals looked like something I had seen on a statue. "Are they all flowers?"

"Yeah, mostly. Some are leafy plants like ferns and hostas. But I like the flowering plants."

"So what's this one you're working on? Does it have a name?" He squatted next to me and looked at the reddish green shoots. His thighs were thick with . . . "Stop it!" I said to myself.

"Sure, they all have names. This one is a peony. I haven't had any luck with it yet. I get lots of healthy leaves but no flowers."

"Huh. Well, maybe this year will be different," he suggested. He stood up to his towering height again. "Don't forget about dinner tonight. I'm gonna start the cooking now. You might want to bring along a snack in case my food is inedible."

I knew he was kidding. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm looking forward to it. What time is it now?"

"About four o'clock. You've got time." He started to walk toward the coach house.

"Wow! I've been out here a long time. I need to get cleaned up." I watched his backside for a minute before scolding myself again. I gathered my tools, put them in the shed, and went in to take a shower. I masturbated while I was in there. I noticed that I was feeling the need more often lately.

I decided to take a bottle of wine to dinner, even though he said he didn't need anything. My mother would never go to someone's house empty-handed. I climbed the stairs to the apartment above the garage, remembering when I had lived there. Sam answered the door wearing a white polo shirt over faded jeans. I felt a little weak in the knees. I must be really hungry! He invited me in and took the bottle of wine as I offered it.

"Thanks - I didn't think of that. But I'm not old enough to buy it anyway, so it's a good thing you brought it."

Feeling like my judgment had lapsed, I apologized, "Oh, I shouldn't have brought that . . ."

"That's okay," he reassured me, "you can drink it. I'll have iced tea. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble." He was teasing me. "I'll get you a glass . . . oh, wait . . . I don't have a cork screw."

"No worries - it's a screw top bottle. I'm a cheap date." My conscience barked, "What the fuck?!"

"Good to know!" he said. "You know this isn't going to be anything fancy, right? I have a lot to learn about cooking." He opened a cupboard to get a glass and I noticed a whole shelf full of junk food, bags of candy, and a box from a doughnut shop. I was surprised, but I didn't say anything. "The chef at the restaurant taught me a few basics, but I don't think I have a knack for it." He handed me a tumbler filled with my cheap wine. "Sorry I don't have a wine glass."

"This is fine, thanks. So what are we having?" I could smell something cooking, but couldn't identify it.

"Salad, lemon chicken breasts, and broccoli." He lifted his glass of iced tea in sort of a toast and said, "Cheers!" I swallowed some wine. He was standing near me. I felt like I had to look up at him more than usual. I looked down to see what kind of shoes he was wearing - flat leather sandals. I looked up again. "What?" he said.

"I'm curious - how tall are you? You seem . . . taller."

"It's funny you should say that. They measured me at work the other day and apparently I'm six-foot-three. I always thought I was six-two at most, but I guess I was never measured correctly."

Even more curious, I asked, "Why were they measuring you at work?" My inappropriate thoughts whispered, "And what were your other measurements?" I suppressed that with another swallow of wine.

"Oh, they want me to start working as a personal trainer in the health club, so they were getting all my stats to show me how it's done."

"Ah, was that your . . . were you trying . . . " My head felt light, so I drained my wine glass. "I didn't know you did that."

"No, I wasn't planning on being a trainer. I thought I needed a degree in something, but the manager said I have what it takes to motivate people - the right personality and . . . other stuff." He crossed his arms over his chest. Things bulged. "I guess you just need to be in good shape."

"Well, you're certainly . . . a hard worker." I caught myself that time. "I'm sure you will be great at it."

"Thanks for the encouragement. I appreciate that. Let me refill your glass. The chicken should be ready." He poured more wine for me and gestured toward the table where there were two basic place settings. I sat on the far side of the table and watched him get the food. The way that shirt fit him . . . and the jeans . . . his bare arms . . . I sighed loud enough to make him glance over at me, but my face was innocent. He was a living, breathing advertisement for vigorous exercise. Who wouldn't want him to be their trainer?

He put a bowl of prepared salad on the table, some bread that looked like the kind I buy, and then he brought out a steaming pan full of chicken breasts and broccoli and set it on a straw mat. I could smell the lemon. "Wow, Sam, you made enough for an army!" A slight exaggeration, but there were eight chicken breasts in there.

He blushed a little. "Well, you've seen me eat. I never have leftovers. Help yourself." I lifted a chicken breast onto my plate, some broccoli, and salad. He did the same but took twice as much. As we started eating he continued to tell me about his new job at the health club. He would continue to wait tables in the restaurant a few evenings each week, but he would be putting in about thirty hours per week as a trainer. "The training pays better and I'll get health benefits, but I won't get tips like I do as a waiter."

"Oh, you'll get tips as a trainer!" I said too enthusiastically.

"What do you mean? They didn't tell me that." He apparently didn't know what I meant.

"I'm just saying that some people tip their trainer just like they tip their barber or whatever. For good service."

"Okay. Cool. I don't really get the way people hand out tips. I think I'm just doing my job the way it should be done, and they give me all this extra money. It's great, but it seems too easy or something." Could he really be so unaware of his erotic charm? "How's the food?"

I was afraid he would ask me that. The salad was foolproof and the broccoli was okay, but the chicken was dry and tasteless. I was having a hard time swallowing it, so I was drinking my wine faster than I should have. "It's good," I lied.

He emptied the last of the wine into my glass. "Are you sure? You don't think the chicken is dry?" He was looking me square in the face, so I had to summon my best acting skills.

"No! It's got the lemon . . . and the flavor is . . . what is that other flavor in there?"

A smile was forming on his lips. "Is it chicken? Is that what you taste?"

"Yeah, the chicken! The texture is . . ." I had nothing.

He was grinning now. "It's pretty bad, isn't it? You're such a liar!"

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's not good. I can't eat this." I felt bad but he didn't seem offended at all.

"That's okay. I'll eat it." He stabbed the remainder of my chicken with his fork and moved it to his own plate. "It doesn't taste very good to me either, but I can't afford to waste food just because I'm a bad cook. As you know, I'm on a tight budget." I reflected on the fact that he had never paid his rent late and always had the full amount in cash. Even with his extra income from odd jobs, he must have been struggling to buy food, especially enough to satisfy his awesome appetite.

He continued eating the chicken breasts while I had more salad and bread. I loved watching Sam eat - the more the better. I tried not to look too long at any part of him because it was all too tantalizing - veins on the smooth underside of his forearm, bulky shoulders, a glimpse of hair on his chest, and those green eyes! I had to think about something else. "I suppose you won't be getting as many meals at the restaurant now that you'll be working there less often."

"We'll see. Chef likes to feed me. They all make fun of my appetite - they say I eat like a vacuum cleaner, so they call me 'Hoover.' I just smile and keep eating." He smiled and kept eating. I liked the nickname.

I continued with my questions. "You probably won't get much use out of your weights downstairs if you're working out at the health club all day."

"Not true. I just bought those weights from a guy who moved to California. I'm going to use them because I don't work out at the club. I did for a couple of weeks, but the regulars are too competitive. They all wanted to know how much I was lifting to see whether they were lifting more. I'm not interested in that."

I couldn't help but ask, "Were you keeping up with them?" I was starting to sound a little too interested in this.

Sam raised an eyebrow at me as he loaded up his plate again. "I wasn't competing . . . but I wasn't losing, if that's what you mean." He seemed reluctant to give specifics.

I had a bottle of wine in me, so I had the courage to be direct. "You're really strong, aren't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

He blushed. "Yeah."

"How strong?"

"How strong? I don't know, Adam - abnormally strong? I don't know how to answer that."

I could tell he wasn't too comfortable with this subject so I chose my questions more carefully. "Have you always been that way?"

"Yeah. When I was a kid my father told me it was a gift from God, just like it was for Samson, the guy they named me after. That's why they said I should join the military. They had this idea that Bin Laden and al-Qaeda were descendents of the Philistines and it was my destiny to destroy them. It was some pretty crazy shit. I knew I was stronger than normal, but I didn't see it as a gift of any kind."

"Why not? It's . . . useful."

"Sure, it's nice to be able to lift stuff. But it's just one more thing that makes me different from everybody else. I never understood why they thought my strength was a gift from God, but the other thing - being gay - was an 'abomination.' How did they decide that?"

The conversation had turned toward serious issues. My bad. I tried to lighten things up. "Well, it makes you a fantastic snow shoveler!"

"You mean being gay?" He was back to teasing. He put the last chicken breast on his plate along with the remaining broccoli. I was starting to realize that on top of his more obvious attributes, Sam was just a great guy. He was smart and sensitive, and he had a sense of humor. I liked him. I enjoyed his company. There weren't many people I could say that about.

I was still kind of confused about a few things. Maybe it was the wine, but I kept going. "So, if you just bought your weights and you only worked out at the club for a couple of weeks, how did you get bigger since you moved in here?" I couldn't believe I was asking this.

He looked down at his arms and squeezed them a little. I felt it in my crotch. "Yeah, my weight was down quite a bit when I came to town because I wasn't eating. No money means no food. Once I could afford to eat again the weight came back on." He ate another chunk of chicken. "I gain pretty easily when I get enough to eat."

Gain what? It certainly wasn't fat. I didn't want to keep asking questions about his body for obvious reasons. I was thinking of proposing something that was probably a bad idea and was certainly out of character for me. I was feeling tipsy and my force field of caution had been partially disabled, so I threw my idea out there.

"Sam, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a new arrangement between us. I could use your help with a number of projects around here, and I was thinking I could cook for you. I mean, I'm cooking for myself anyway, so on the days when you're not at the restaurant you could eat with me. I'll buy the food in exchange for your work, so your budget won't be so tight. Whadaya think?"

He looked pleased, but hesitant. "I would love that, Adam, but I don't know . . . I eat a lot. I think I would feel bad about how much it would cost you."

"Don't worry, I'm taking that into consideration. I'd get my money's worth - there's a lot of work to be done on this property. In fact, it might not be fair to you . . ."

"No, no! It would be great for me! Don't get me wrong. I love the idea as long as you're comfortable . . . you know . . . I just can't believe you want to do this for me." I thought for a moment that he might cry, but he quickly stood up and looked around as though he had forgotten something. "Oh yeah! Coffee! Do you want coffee? I have decaf if you can't drink regular at night." He looked really happy.

"Sure. Regular is fine. After all that wine, I could probably use a jolt."

He was still standing on the other side of the table, leaning against his chair. He had his right palm pressed against his surprisingly flat stomach. "Did you get enough to eat? I know I did. Sorry about the chicken." As he said that, he slipped his hand under the front of his polo shirt and caressed his belly before giving the firm flesh a couple of audible pats, then another rub.

That smack of skin against skin electrified my groin and caused some swelling. I answered him, "Yeah, I had plenty. I'm good."

He stopped rubbing his stomach and started picking up dishes. I remembered a similar scene in my kitchen a few weeks prior, so I stood up to help. He said, "Could you show me how much coffee to use in the coffee maker? I don't want to make it too weak for you." I followed him over to the counter near the sink where he had filters and two kinds of ground coffee set out next to the obviously new, inexpensive coffee maker.

"This takes me back," I said. "I remember making coffee in this kitchen when I was in college." I opened the bag of regular coffee and looked for a spoon.

"You used to live here?" he asked as he filled the carafe with cold water from the faucet.

"Yeah, I was, let me think . . . twenty years old - your age - when I moved in here. My parents fixed it up for me." I scooped coffee into the filter basket. "That looks about right."

He moved next to me with the carafe of water to pour it into the reservoir. In doing so, his hip and thigh accidentally connected with mine, just like several weeks ago. This time I had enough self-control to stay in place, not wanting to offend him again, even though he nudged a little closer. He was surprisingly warm. Human contact was so foreign to me that any aspect of it could surprise me. I liked the warmth, but it scared me. He finished pouring the water and pulled away. I felt the absence of warmth. That scared me more. I was trying to make sense of my feelings when he gestured with the carafe toward the coffee maker. I realized what he wanted and moved aside so he could put it on the warming plate. He flipped the switch. We were silent together for a moment, as though we were commemorating something.

He spoke first. "I didn't realize this was your apartment. I'm trying to picture you living here. Wait . . . I'm trying to picture you at age twenty." He grinned at me. I shook my head and smiled.

We sat at his kitchen table and drank coffee while I told him about some of the projects I had in mind for the garden and the house. He responded as though he wanted to get started tomorrow. I found out that he had all kinds of skills that he learned on the farm. He would be very useful. I asked him what kind of food he liked. He couldn't think of anything he didn't like. I said, "What about really spicy chili?"

He laughed heartily. "I liked it! Really! I wasn't lying, like you did about my chicken. I just didn't realize you were trying to kill me!" He tipped his coffee mug up to drink the last swallow and a single drop of black coffee fell onto his white shirt over his left pectoral. He didn't notice it, but I watched it bleed into the fabric near the raised point of his nipple. Before I could mention it he said, with feigned indignation, "Adam! Are you staring at my boobs?!"

I knew he was joking, but it brought me up short. I suddenly felt sober. I said, "You dripped coffee on your shirt," and I pointed to where it was.

He looked down at it, pulling his shoulders back and pushing his chest out. "Oh, crap!" He picked up a paper napkin from the table and pressed it against the firm mound on his chest. Then he started brushing the fabric with the napkin. His nipples became more prominent.

I stood up. "I should go - it's getting late."

He stopped fussing over his shirt. "Already? Well, I guess it is late." He stood as I started moving toward the door. "I have to go in to the health club tomorrow morning to get oriented with the head trainer. And then I work in the restaurant in the evening. So when do you want to start our new arrangement?"

"How about Tuesday? And maybe you can give me your schedule so I'll know when you'll be eating with me."

"Sure. And you might want to invest in a grocery store." Dry humor again.

I got it. "I'll consider that." Actually, his humorous suggestion appealed to me for some reason.

Sam opened the door and spoke sincerely, "I'm glad we can be friends, Adam. Thank you."

"Yes," I said. "Me too." But I thought, "Friends? Is that right?" I started down the stairs.

That bitchy voice inside me said, "You can't be friends with him! He's your tenant! It's a business transaction! It will get messy! It's too risky! What will people think?"

I told the voice to shut the fuck up.

Sam called after me, "Wait, Adam! Did you want that lemon chicken recipe?"

I laughed out loud. I couldn't remember the last time I did that.

*****

Continued in: Part 5

Last edited by Reeza; July 22nd, 2013 at 07:09 PM.
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Old July 18th, 2013, 09:59 PM
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Thanks for writing and posting this! I needed something nice to read tonight.
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Old July 18th, 2013, 10:53 PM
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I love how you show us Adam's introverted self from his thoughts, his reactions, how he describes his past and his really strong empathy for Sam's feelings and reactions! You really give his character life, especially as the narrator and the MC. I find his inner voice hilarious.

Also, Sam is way too adorable.

Thanks for sharing this story. I'm a sucker for a romance I can relate with.
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Old July 18th, 2013, 11:29 PM
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I am really enjoying this story VERY much. You have revealed characters one just can't help but like.
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Old July 19th, 2013, 02:19 AM
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Old July 19th, 2013, 04:59 AM
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Unaware....

"Okay. Cool. I don't really get the way people hand out tips. I think I'm just doing my job the way it should be done, and they give me all this extra money. It's great, but it seems too easy or something." Could he really be so unaware of his erotic charm? "How's the food?"


.....apparently someone is clueless....and....

"Wow! I've been out here a long time. I need to get cleaned up." I watched his backside for a minute before scolding myself again. I gathered my tools, put them in the shed, and went in to take a shower. I masturbated while I was in there. I noticed that I was feeling the need more often lately.


.......totally unaware!

Just amazing writing! This latest episode was FULL of little moments like that.

Just...Amazing! Thank you for writing.

Mdlftr
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Old July 19th, 2013, 08:08 AM
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This is a great slow burn...I'm really enjoying it! I love Sam's BIG appetite and how he is growing bigger!
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Old July 19th, 2013, 10:04 AM
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This story just gets better and better. Oh the anticipation!!!
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Old July 19th, 2013, 02:13 PM
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Reeza, thanks again!
Another wonderful chapter. =)
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Old July 19th, 2013, 04:02 PM
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Thanks for that
A great read.
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Old July 19th, 2013, 10:24 PM
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This is turning out to be as good a story as I'd hoped. The character development, the plot line, the interplay-- this is a story that could more than stand on its own even without any muscle growth. I can barely wait to read what happens next.

U.M. Lassiter
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Old July 20th, 2013, 06:08 PM
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this was really sweet!
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Old July 20th, 2013, 06:45 PM
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Another great chapter

Loving this story, I just hope Adam has the resources to feed Sam properly.
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Old July 21st, 2013, 10:38 AM
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Loving it

The best story ever!!!!!!!!!!!
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Old July 21st, 2013, 06:46 PM
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Can't wait for more....

Loving it too. Looking forward to the next chapter.
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Old October 10th, 2013, 04:06 PM
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Xd

i hope that this story will have grow muscle
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Old January 14th, 2014, 03:27 AM
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Utterly astonishing. Your dialogue is beyond excellent. You breathe such life into your creations, I feel like they're real people. I do pretty great American accents, so I found myself mouthing the dialog out loud (I can surprisingly sound like a 20 year old if necessary, although physically I'm way beyond that). I simply cannot do anything else with my day other than read on and on. I had planned to apply for jobs, but this story completely owns me.
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