This Old Whore: KissMyAss

Oh, this guy was a one for the ages, I mean where do I start? Well, first things first, he was quite anxious to slip-n-slide (in hindsight I would be too if I’d had pent up sexual frustrations for almost 19 years). He insisted we go on a “date”. I obliged. A fine girl needs to be whined and dined from time to time. From there, a tease: Matt Dillon, Mr. Racist Cop, giving Thandie Newton, Mrs. UnUncle Tom, a wag of the finger on the side of the road – oh, what kind of re-enactment was to come! As he whisked us away to look at the stars, I contemplated the action ahead. Surprise, surprise, Mr. Elegant, Fancy Man had champagne chilling. It was delectable. It could have been Ginger Ale for all I cared, but this whore would never complain for a night of decadence. As the “moment” – yes the 2 minutes he’d be active for – drew nearer, I readied my “uh’s”. Instead of some smooth Barry White for background love making, I decided to mess with him and place Office Space. The dialogue would surly heighten my experience as I presumed to lay there like a dead dog giving the obligatory “ugh”. He could maybe even duplicate the “Oh, OH!” face? So before Michael Bolton could lock his doors, KMA was unlocking mine. Nice move. And we were off. Yeah he did not stop; he was sort of like the energizer bunny. Yes, we had a linear, episodic fuck. No Momento crap here. He didn’t fuck me and then kiss me and magically have his clothes back on. I was unsure though of how far he’d take it. He was a newbie for Christ’s sake. The story just begins. Stunned as I was, he pulled out his horsie from his pocket. Dastardly tactics to get laid but clever thinking nonetheless; a whore will fuck any time, any where. At this point I think I’d pissed him off as I’d been pulling instead of stroking – so he decided to pull my card and fuck. I wanted it anyways so no worries. Lomburgh pushed, “So, yeeeeah, I’m gonna need you to come in on Saturday.” I acted astonished and jumped on top. I threw my hair in the air like the movies. Within minutes my job wasn’t done. He tossed me on the bed (ooh I like it rough). As he rocked the boat, he seemed frustrated. And I know why, I mean I just sat there pissed that he had not shot yet. Ugh, virgins have so much ambition! Laughs adorned his attempts, “Michael Bolton, ha no way. I love Michael Bolton! What’s your favorite song?” So he pulled me to the bottom of the bed and reinserted. He asked. “Am I in your ass?” Ha, I just had to laugh. Wrong hole fool? Ah, yes and no. He was but I turned down his “fears” down. I’m a whore, you better find my ass! Well that orifice didn’t last long, let’s just say there was blood on the dance floor. I was even more of a strain on the floor. I decided to have his first time be a little more memorable. I continued to pull and he alertly grabbed it and DIYed it. As we, rather he, climaxed, the timely Milton stuttered, “Can someone please give me back my Swing line stapler. Um um I brought it from home. The Boston stapler is um from the work room but I brought my um own supplies from home.” He gave me it. I didn’t want it. I pushed it back to him and there: Columbia’s crew landed on the surface of his chest. Ha, the best part, not a peep from him, he just hummed along. Intuitive as I am, and with no harp on his part from this implosion, I began to finger paint on his chest – baby steps indeed! Humping, slobbering and showering ensued and finished the deal. I just love giving newbies traumatizing experiences that otherwise would follow the namesake, but rather are treasured and held closely and dearly to heart. I think he liked it. And to tell you the truth, I liked it too.