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Linsey’s gone back. Back to the future. She’s wearing the poodle skirt, the hair scarf, the cat’s eye glasses, the tight titty-blouse and best of all, the bullet bra with pointy “cone” cups that all the beauties and hotties wore in the 1950’s. The kind of bras that gave chicks super-pointers, jutting and thrusting their headlights forward at a 90 degree angle. Where have those bras gone? If Linsey were superimposed into a TechniColor Hollywood movie with James Dean or John Saxon, she’d fit right in. Now alone in her bedroom after class, she waxes romantically about some jerk-wad named Billy who makes her little heart go thumpity-thump-thump and her knickers all soggy. It is a sure bet that Linsey is gonna do what her sex-ed teacher warned her not to do. The rampaging hormones of youth will alway triumph over the edicts of a dried up biddy and Linsey has just the right thing for the job. No, not A-hole Billy. A gift from an old pervert named Doc Johnson. Linsey may be the most stacked, curvaceous, hottest babygirl in her school but alone in her room, her sexually excited, oozy slit needs a thick, hard tool sliding in and out.

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