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Extreme Cathy is fitted with a Strophoid by Jan Porn Video

Daddy teaches his daughter a lesson for not obeying.

I think that you have a fine name, Bart. The first name, Talon - it is the word for an eagle's..."

He nodded, "Yes, a hunting bird's claw. How dramatic. She's never told me, but I've always wondered what my mother had been reading when she came up with that one." He rolled his eyes, and noticed the rings on every finger of her hand but one. "And forgive me, but ..."
"Farah," she said with a smile which threatened to make him forget those names of his, "just plain Farah."

His eyes opened wide, "So it really is you? You're Farah LaMontagne?" His pronunciation was absolutely perfect.

It surprised the hell out of her.

"Yes," she said with a small bit of shock. "Why? Have you heard of me or something? I cannot imagine that you would."

He grinned, "Actually, I've never heard of you, but I wish that I had. I just read it from your business license there on the wall, Farah. Would you like to go?"

"Yes," Farah said with a laugh at being taken in so easily, "I love the coffee there and they will not sell me anything at the other store in town."

He waited for her to lock up and said, "You're not missing much, but are you serious? They refuse to sell you anything? Why?"

She sighed, "Because they shout at me that I am a witch and think that I must be trying to ruin the children of the town or something. I can't even complain because the store is private property and like any store, the owners can refuse to sell to whomever they like. I have been told that if I go there again, I will be charged with trespassing. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I prefer to go to this one. It is a little bit fancier, and they charge a little more for that, I guess, but it reminds me of a bistro. Well that is because it is a bistro, I suppose. But I can have a croissant with my coffee there and it actually tastes a little like they do in Europe."

Waiting in the shop to order, she looked at his very dark brown hair and said, "Thank you for saying my name correctly. I cannot remember the last time that I have heard it spoken like that. I have learned that most Americans could not pronounce French if their lives hung in the balance, though it's not their fault. It makes me wonder how you learned to speak French because I don't think that you could say it correctly without knowing how."

He smiled self-consciously and shrugged, "My mother is American, but my father was a Canadian Ojibwa. I was born in the US, but lived in Canada until we moved back to the states when I was 12 after he died. We lived in a town with a fairly large French-speaking population, so I speak English, French, Ojibwemowin and I can manage a little Chippewean, which is related but a bit different. But the French isn't quite the same as European French, though it's close enough, I guess. I do hear some big differences, though."

They stopped their conversation while they were served, but after, he said, "I have the sense that you feel a little bit sentimental about Europe. If you're French, I think I can understand that, living here. But it makes me wonder why you're living here in the first place."

She smiled at him over her croissant, "Is it that obvious? I am a citizen and I really like it here, but I do always feel a little bit, ... wishful for something which I can't seem to have." She took a bite and he waited until she finished it. Touching the corner of her mouth with her napkin, she continued. "I am what you might call a piece of collateral damage from several dreams of others - and even my own."

"The short version of a complicated story is that my grandparents were Bejawi - most people in the Sudan call them the Beja - they traveled to Iran to work and escape the never-ending civil wars.

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