(no subject)
lived with my first girlfriend for two years because she had a killer rack and was willing to work three jobs while I sat at home and played Freecell. My second long-term lady-friend stopped speaking to me after I shit in her bed, blamed it on her, and then stole $50 from her nightstand. Pity -- she had an outstandingly accommodating sphincter muscle. More recently, while finger-fiddling a chubby young damsel on the couches of the CJ office, I was appalled to discover that her velvety innards felt like they were lined with bubble wrap - probably some heinous venereal disease that arrived on these shores attached to the ass of a middle-management advertising exec who stuck his dick in the wrong Bangkok tranny. (Not that there’s a right Bangkok tranny, but it’s late, and my mind is moving slowly.) After massaging her open sores for a few minutes, I concluded that her vagina was ribbed for MY pleasure, double-bagged Captain Stifflewood, and rocked her world for a full ninety seconds.