My name is Charlotte, a widow, and own my own business. Today I stayed home because the Cable guy was coming to upgrade my service. Oh boy, did he give me service!
When I climbed on the step ladder to show him the splicing, he promptly held me up by placing his huge paw on the small of my back. "Careful, don't fall," he said. Then I felt he slid down his hand, applying a slight pressure on my ass.
By the time I got down, I was hot and horny, and so was he; we were like two cats rubbing each other. So I sat on the sofa and let him see a bit of my crotch (I learned this trick from Britney Spears), and that's all it took.
Sooner than you can say "I'mwetinsideandoutside," we were rolling on the carpet. Lucky me! He is only the second man I've ever been with, and the first one to have fucked me in the ass. My poor departed husband could never get himself to do it: "too degrading," he would always say. I didn't find anything degrading but upgrading and the cable guy did it!
Which would you prefer?
You decide!
There's no man on earth I respect more than Chomsky. Not only did he revolutionized Linguistics, but also philosophy, sociology, psychology and others fields.
He sustains that human beings are born with some faculties that no other species posses--such as language and face recognition. Well, I humbly disagree. I was born blind, so I cannot recognize faces. So much for his theory!
I do, however, will advance the notion that human beings are born with a sixth sense that I will call genitalia and armpit recognition. I have been proven correct many times. All I've got to do is tongue a lady's genitalia and armpits a few times and I never forget her!
"Ah!" you'd say. "Impossible."
Not only you, dear reader, but scientists at MIT are also befuddled by my extraordinary faculty. So they asked for three volunteers and conducted an experiment. For every pass of the experiment I was proven correct.
For their control experiment they tried to trick me by replacing one of the subjects with my wife. Guess what? I immediately recognized her and screamed, "Leonora, what the hell are you doing here? And why did you shave you pussy and armpits?!"
After their initial shock, the group of scientists agreed to write an article soon to be published in the New England Journal of Medicine.
Being alone in the Big Apple and a lone wolf by nature, I was having a sad and melancholy new year's celebration by myself. Mostly I was in my room studying English. But I decided to have a few beers and went to the Blue Room (at 59th and 2nd Ave), where the girl-bar tenders are not only good looking but also quite polite. I like that. In other bars barkeeps have the tendency to mistreat me.
The atmosphere was nice. Lovely. I sat next to a gorgeous Anglo lady. A book was sticking out of her bag and I asked her if it was a good book. She looked at me as if I was an extra-terrestial who had just blurted out the oldest pick-up line in the book. But then she mellowed and said, "Terrific book, I will finish it soon--a great read...a business mystery."
"Oh, like Enron?"
"Yeah," she warmed up to me. I gathered she thought that a guy who knows about Enron couldn't be such a loser.
"Buy it if you can," she said, "The Poison Pill--it is by a hispanic writer, too. My sister gave it to me for Christmas; she said people all over the world are reading. . . and if I don't read it I would feel out of the loop."
"Hispanic? And he writes in English? Oh, man. I will buy it for sure!"
Virginia happens to be a college professor. She doesn't drink or smoke--she loves chicken wings with guacamole and tortilla chips! Well, I do too (the hottest the better). So we became friends and had a great time.
Not to milk the story (I just learned this expression), I asked her to come up to my room. Much to my surprise she agreed and...oh boy, oh boy! I was the happiest illegal alien that ever cross (or is it crossed?) the Rio Grande.
I was a little drunk but Virginia was sober and hunger (or is it hungry?) for love. Being a college professor she asked me if I had ever heard of Plato's Cave. But because I am an ignorant boy I replied with full honesty, "No, of course not...I only went to the third grade."
Lovely Virginia smiled with the sweetest and loveliest smile and turned over. Glimpsing over her shoulder and spreading her pink buttocks she said, "I bet you know this cave!"
It only took a fraction of a second for me to connect and understand that Plato was gay and that he liked it in the cave. So--thanks be to the Virgencita of Guadeloupe who has blessed me with a 9-inch corn-cob--I went into the cave with all my nine-inches.
Ah, lovely Virginia! Thanks, too, for teaching me about Plato's Greek love.
Now let me go on line and order that blessed book she recommended, and which let me start the year with such a great bang. . . or is it Big Bang?
I am a bachelor and a Babyboomer, but don't think by any stretch that I am an old fart. I can still make it to the finish line before many youngsters.
Nothing can be more frustrating than a badly remembered night. I celebrated the birth of the new year 2007 at the Rum Bar on 47th Street, right off Broadway (Edison Hotel lobby). I don't have a good voice, but I can carry a tune and can fake my way through some romantic songs. Of course, Karen--"Perfect Pitch Karen"--the piano player should take all the credit because she can accompany almost anyone--maybe even a stutterer.
Anyway, Sonicka, a young Austrian tourist liked my singing so much that she carried me to her room so that we could make music together--musick machen.
It turned out that she was engaged and soon to be married, and that it was her wish to remain a virgin. I vaguely remember her asking me to eat her pussy "ein bischen" or a sound that I understood to mean: eat "fine biscuit" only.
She told me that Austrian fellows eat schnitzel but not pussy, and since I was a master at it she rewarded me by letting me fuck her in the ass. My problem is that I am still carrying a load of frustration at not having banged that virginal Austrian pussy.
