Oh, watch him lie on his lounge, that old Aragón, that sharp fella. Covered in that velvet red robe of his, sipping idly from a cup of whiskey. There's a man you'd call a friend. There's a chap you'd call when there's trouble -- not because he can help, but he can stand there looking, make a witty quip.

You could kiss him, right now, but you won't. Because you know Aragón, that sharp fella. You know that cup looks like it's full of whiskey, but chances are, it's full of cum.

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