For men that have love for boobs
Greetings, pussy hounds, it's Charlie O'Neal again, your standard bearer for ordinary horn dogs everywhere. I told you a couple of episodes ago that things don't always work out the way I want them to. I'd love to always get great pics with nookie included. But I'm still pleased with my EFR (earned fuck ratio)–you like that? Alas, sweet Tabitha–28, 5'1", 115 pounds–hurt my EFR.
I'd spent a lot of time cultivating my hair stylist, Tabitha. I'd listened with sympathy to her tales about her on-again, off-again relationship with a guy. She knew about my deal with NN and seemed interested. Indeed, one Saturday–while giving me a blow job (my hair, guys)–she agreed to stop by my place to pose, after her shift was over at the salon.
Tabitha arrived and told me that she'd stopped off at home to get her favorite toys. "Okay!" I thought. So, we had a couple of glasses of my favorite pinot and I set up my camera. Then Tabitha dropped the bomb. "Don't get any ideas," she said. "You're not gonna even touch me. I'd feel funny about that seeing as how you're such a good customer of mine." Fuck! So she posed, had a loud, wet orgasm, used the bathroom, took her envelope, said, "See ya!" and left. I felt cheated, abandoned and extremely horny.
Now, I have to find a new hair salon. See, I'd find it hard sitting in the chair with Tabitha's clothed cunt about a foot from my face, seeing as how I've seen it wide open and all juiced up. Am I wrong?
