Fiction | September 01, 1997

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It was her skin that she loved the most.  It was clear, even-toned, dewy!  She would stroke it, knead it, pull a pinch away from her face and let it snap back; With Oil of Olay, I get the fine, light protection that’s never greasy, she’d whisper, then press up to the mirror with an open mouth, licking the cool glass in circles with her tongue.

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