There are times in a SW life when you find yourself pondering how did I get here? Today was that day for me. I had a booking with a rather buffed, fit, fine specimen of manhood, who at 10:30 in the morning upon arrival a)asked if I had a crack(read crystal meth) pipe. I answer no! He then b)preceded to grind it up with his lighter and snort a rather long line. I thought oh well there goes any fun I was planning on having with him. Well, what was beginning to look like a promising erection soon started to melt like the polar ice caps, leaving me with this hunky man, no erection to speak of, beating the damn thing into submission, for 2 hours!
So, what does an enterprising ho do in the midst all this? Get her self off and then spend the rest of the time watching him beat his dick into a numb coma talking utter and unmitigated shite. Then when I would get bored, I would wiggle my bum in his face, telling him how much I wanted him to come all over it. At one point, as he was standing over me, pulling on his ever shrinking dick, he said he had hope of it getting hard. Before I could stop myself I channeled Jessie Jackson, and with fist pumping action in the air said, "KEEP HOPE ALIVE! LET'S KEEP HOPE ALIVE!" Thinking to myself, cause your dick is dead!
Yes, these are the moments I live for.