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  • Ríkisstjórn Name: Marco Miguel Robertson
  • Kennitala: 62151-066
  • Aldur:38
  • Tími Borið:15 + ár.
  • Home Town:Laurel, MD
  • Setning:LIFE +24 ár.
  • Núverandi Hleðsla:Murder
  • Alias:Marco Miguel
  • Útgáfudagur:Leita eftir sannfæringu léttir
  • Prison Tengsl:Rétttrúnaðar Sunni múslima
  • Hring áhrifum:Tewhan Butler
  • Stofnun:USP Lewisburg (SMU)
  • Ég er Maryland State Fangi í sérstökum Stjórn Unit of sambands fangelsi kerfi í fimmtánda ári lífs + 24-ári setning. Nope, Ekkert það var þess virði!

Crack Baby My Farin

crack-baby

A lady of Italian heritage, five-feet-eight-inches tall, þreytandi krem-lit sundress til hrós möndlu húð hennar, mjúk brún augu, manneldis tær, sporting a body out of a wet dream, stood magnificently gorgeous before me smelling of sweet summer fragrance. Nafn hennar var Dejuan.

Man, gæti hún að vinna ást kassi hennar! Dejuan gæti breiðst fætur hennar í sundur, meðan ég var í henni, og kasta gæsku hennar til mín en fingur hennar greip bæði hana stórutá. Eins hest, hún myndi ríða mér á allan hátt, matching my every thrust. Phenomenal she was in doggystyle, giving me back everything I gave, looking back often while we both were standing. The anal sex was out of this world, and the oral sex was out of this galaxy.

Dejuan would always tell me not to cum in her. That’s something I never understood as a youthful man. I’d simply dig deeper cause that was the best feeling to me. Dejuan would leap up with sighs of “You came in me”.

For several years Dejuan was one of my best clients and an unexpected sexual partner. When she purchased crack-cocaine from me, she’d spend from $200-$500 at a time. Oft, when her money ran out and she wanted to trade sex for crack, she’d keep me on a string by not spending money with me if I refused her request, She’d do the same even if I gave her a piece of crack but didn’t have sex with her. We were all too familiar with plenty of car passenger seats, beds, sinks, floors, apartment buildings’ laundry rooms, vacant apartments, and motel rooms.

Sjá, Dejuan was several years older than me, a bonafide looker who appeared nothing like a crackhead. She was regularly employed as a secretary for a local business and had a decent apartment and car. Her son was the child of a black guy named Don who owned two barbershops in Laurel, Maryland. On quite a few occasions, I asked her why she smoked crack and told her if she didn’t get high I’d make her the one. I operated on a personal rule while tricking with crackheads: Ég vissi ekki kyssa þá. But she was so appealing to me and a sexual monster, svo mikið svo, I broke the rule with her.

Einn daginn, I called her and told her to come to my Red Roof Inn hotel room. Once she arrived, I gave her a fat block of crack. Stuttu eftir það, we shared an intense passionate kiss. It was as if she’d been waiting to completely experience me. Eins og alltaf kynlíf okkar fór með henni að gefa mér munnmök, þá hún myndi taka mig inn í einn af holur hennar. Madly, we kissed, I licked, I sucked, nibbled on her- ears/lips/breasts/fingers- þá er ég lapped frantically á holur hennar eins og ef ég væri hundur. Síðan, she complimented me on my talented tongue and lips, which she experienced for the first time. She then dropped me off in Town Center Apartments to commence my business for the day.

At one point Dejuan was dating a Cuban guy named Rene and lived with him in a $400,000 mini-mansion in Greenbelt, Maryland. Odd as it seems, Rene smoked crack sometimes, but was connected to the point where he offered to sell me what I wanted. I only did business with him when his mood struck to get high and continued on dealing with his lady.

Around the early summer of 1996, Dejuan revealed to my drug-dealing partners that I had her pregnant. She lied to Rene that she was pregnant by him, though they used protection. Því miður, before she terminated our child we had a sexual encounter in an apartment building’s laundry room. During the escapade, as we pounded each other, she took my right hand from her waist and placed it on her firm ripe stomach. Even more depressing, I never discussed the matter with her.

A child was murdered via abortion! Not just any child but mine! I didn’t know what to say. Frankly, I didn’t give much thought to saying anything because she was a pipehead. I wonder if it was a boy or girl? Could I have addressed it with her? Should I have used protection to protect against pregnancy and disease? Nú, I’m curious if Dejuan thinks of our lost child or me, or is she still chasing a high she’ll never get enough of.

  

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