[action/blog] Mon vie est terminée.
[Francis wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him. It had been a relatively calm couple of days following Christmas and he'd returned the following Monday to work. However, when he found himself talking to some of his more flirtatious customers, he realized that he was gossiping more than hitting on them. Instead of his normal routine of trying to get a few numbers, he was just- talking. Like he didn't even care about that amazing set of breasts that must have cost somewhere in the rage of 10k$.
This was not a good thing, at all.
Where was Francis Bonnefoy? Notorious flirt and pervert extrodinare?
After a harrowing day of work at his salon, he returned to his condo and immediately put in a few certain DVDs. Upon finding he still was not getting... 'excited' he stared to panic. And panic was something that Francis could still do very well. He was an absolute wreck around the apartment, first telling himself he was just becoming distasteful to women--
But after a grab of a certain Prussian roommate's rear end and still nothing, he quickly had to dismiss that theory.
(ooc: in response to this.)]
[Blog]
Something is... wrong with me. Je ne sais pas- Something very, very wrong.
Quel est le problème avec moi? Pourquoi ne puis-je pas s'énerver? Suis-je vraiment ce vieux?
Does anyone know any sickness where it causes you to not get aroused?