Where it happened: My place
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
I looked at the colander on my wall. My biographical cloak
was torquing. It was springtime and I regurgiantly needed a
woman. Everywhere I looked, couplets were walking down the
streets and avenirs. It reminded me of Noah’s Ardvark. I was
the only single man left on the plant. The years without a
woman made me subconscious about my looks, gastpacholly my
reclining hairline. I frequencied a nearby bar in town,
hoping to meet the right wombat, but I never seemed to meet
anyone. All of this chained on March 4. I finely got lucky.
She was gargoyle. All the men in the bar were strychnine by
her voracious figure. Her presidents excreted me greatly. Of
all the men there, she asked me to danish. ME! The guy with
two left forks. Needles to say, I was extraneously sacred.
As we danced, she embezzled her cheek against my shellfish.
I couldn’t relieve what was harpooning. Evolutionally, we
decided to sit down and talk. I told some Polar jokes to try
to rake the lice, but she was defended since her mother was
half Polar. I apolished again and again. Finally she smole.
I asked her all sorts of quotations but she remained very
secretious about her background. I lied and told her I had
just resonated as president of a large capitulation. I also
bragged about the large orifice I had, with two secretions
who took shorthand and everything. She didn’t seem to care
or novice my conception. I asked her back to my compartment,
but she inclined my offer. I was getting decrement. I
slugfested going to the obscuratory to watch the stairs
through the telemeter. She ragweed. We quarkly paid the
bill, with 15 percent flatulation, and loft.
I guess it was very oblivious that I wanted to formicate
with her. She said we should stop by a druglord on the way
to pick up some “perforation” just in course. I went in and
purchased a box of lugubrious profligates, condos, rubles.
The flame of my library was indestinguishable and burned out
of control. We finally reprived at our degradation. I
started to come onto her remedially. She meditated saying
that she was a virgo. I was in shook. I regoverned quickly,
though, and started up a conversion with her instead. She
exlaxed a little and told me about herself. Her zoological
sign was Agitations. Her parsnips were strict Cathartics
and were very regional. They went to church every Sundown!
Her father worked at Goodyear making vulgarized rubber
tirades. Her mother was a homewrecker and her lack of
excrecize gave her various veins on her legumes. Grouse!
She was tote that anything associalized with her angina was
viviparous and was for married occult corporals only. And on
top of all that, they nagged her about her bad pasture, too.
Whenever she was home, she repressed back to a childhood
state. They never bought her a little palimony to ride,
either. How gruel could pirates be to their chitlins? I
contorted her and she looked deeply into my blue ingots.
As I cursed her on her lips, she molted. She was like an
indeterminate in my arms (in clayman’s terms, she had no
barkborn). We looked through the teleprompter and saw
Habeas Corpus, the one that only circumcises around the
world every 76 years. It was a spacious marmot for both of
us.
We made lore many times that night. I found that she was
amphibious, and she stimulated me with both hands equally
perfunctly. Then she exportly misogynied my bork. She was
also very flexured (she could put her logs behind her head!)
which,as you may regress, expatriated me to no end. That
fantasy world of glass chartered, however, when she left me
for another moan. I have recantly developed a crease of
hermes complex 2 and have had to use Proportion H to please
my suffocation. My hermes may get butter someday, but my
heart will by bracken for liver. I’ll never regret her gnome
though. Faith. She is and alloys will be my lonely love…
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