Lunch with my sister yesterday proved to me something: Among what I’d class as my intimate friends (let’s qualify them as saying I know what kind of vibrator they use) I appear to be the only one that’s getting any, any action that is. As my sister was mid-way through one of her endless litanies of complaints about her husband-of-two-years (doesn’t listen, wet towels on the bed, wants anal sex) I couldn’t help but think of Michael the creamy, lithe German student from the previous evening or when I straddled ‘a’ last Monday while my knickers were stuffed in his mouth. She came back from the loo, traced a finger around the rim of her wine glass and asked, ‘and you?’. ‘Oh, you know…’, I replied.
Brad-from-Boston had two things going for him: 1) He could answer a series of really silly questions about Boston (eg, have you ever met Noam Chomsky?) and 2) A thick 8″ cock (shaved too).
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