He always made me laugh. A naughty, school-boyish, tomfoolery claimed his manner. An effortless charm poured off him and sealed and gilded all his relationships. He was equally as raffish with the boys, as with the girls: this ease and swagger kept his show rolling – and we all longed to be swept up in it.
Six-foot four, easy blonde Viking looks, strong wide thighs swathed in tan courdroy, hands wide, fingers thick – if he clutched your hand his great girth and warmth offered a security no others could at that stinging moment of palm-to-palm touch.
He loved like an adoring, loyal hound – a surfeit of constancy and devotion that drew you down and swallowed you whole – emerging together a powerhouse of victorious love.
His office was his van – this white van man – like no other – history, his cerebral mistress. Yorkie bar wrappers littered…
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