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You and your rich business school fratboy friends are obnoxious and confident as only rich boys can be. You all rented out a freaking mansion on the top of a hill above San Francisco. Two kitchens. Four different decks each one with a stunning view of this beautiful city and its bridges and bodies of water. A heated pool. Dark wood floors. Mirrors. Fireplaces. A heated pool out back to lure silly women and get them in their bikinis. Winding staircases.

You took me to a corner of the back staircase to push me against the wall, stick your hands up my skirt, and tongue me. It was so hot I’m wet just writing about it. One room made me really excited. Big with huge windows overlooking the city and a huge bathroom and bathtub. I asked if we could do it there and you said definitely. I really want to do it in the pool with you but I’m afraid your dumb-ass friends would watch. They are gross. You are kind of gross too but you kiss awesome, have a killer body, and make me wet.

You are crude and so are your friends, especially that one asshole friend of yours that slapped my ass and made fun of me for having pale white legs and no spray tan like the perfect boring rich white girls you usually hang out with. They have white-girl hair extensions, fake boobs, and spray tans. Brag about their Jimmy Choo shoes. Really? Like a cartoon stereotype of a dumb rich girl! I thought that short fat one was really obnoxious the way she talked about “ghetto people” dancing in the club where she was that night. She would think 75% of my friends were ghetto. They come from everywhere and everything: Cuba, Senegal, Bronx slums, Brazilian favelas, Mexico City street theater groups. They are more fun in five minutes than that silly rich bitch is in five days.

I am blunt back at you. Told you I didn’t want to fuck you yet. Told you I don’t always groom my pussy hair and that it was a wild jungle you probably wouldn’t like. Told you you better not just jack-hammer me with your dick when we do fuck because that wouldn’t work for me. Said I need it slow. You said you knew that already obviously and you would “make every stroke count.” We’ll see pool boy.

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