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sexually charged racetrack fantasy story of Maro Yumeno :
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k in a deep,
contented breath and sighed happily.
"Ah, this is the life, is it not my old friend?"
The tiny man grumbled something and continued to struggle with the oars.
"What's that, old friend?"
He piped up, "Nothing boss", and fell silent except for ragged breathing.
"Ah, yes. That's what I thought."
There was a moment's silence as the sun beat down heavily and waves
lapped hypnotically. The tall man opened his mouth, and began to sing in his
melodic voice:
"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily,
merrily, merrily, life is but a dream." He chuckled quietly to himself.
"Or, perhaps, a fantasy."
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR.
Driven into the wilderness by his peers as a young boy, the author
eked out an existence on berries and wild coca. His life as a rural urchin
would have continued uninterrupted had he not stumbled upon the remains of a
Commodore VIC-20, and some barely functional word processing software. He now
lives
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