Sleeping High Quality Sex Pics

When the cards are in your favor, bet it all.

Wilson said the first time he fucked her, she clamped down just as he was coming. He almost passed out, it was so tight. She got off two or three times by using her muscles to rub his dick head against her G-spot, and then suddenly released. He said he actually screamed and almost bit off part of his tongue, he came so hard.

"As for her arse, dear boy, frag nisht, as they say, don't throw grenades, or rather, don't ask," Wilson went on. "Y'know, with most-- male, female or whatever-- you go into their arses and it's great, but get past the rectal muscles and it's like fucking a bloody basketball hoop, you're in balls-deep and nothing for your poor dick head. But Diane--now she can hold you to your word, and no error.

"Of course, no glove, no love; you must bag it with dear Diane. Now with most of them, wear a bag and you might better wank yourself. But not with Diane, oh dearie me no, old lad. She can make you forget the bag, your mother's birthday, and the Star-Spangled fuckin' Banner!"

But of course this was TMI. I could never afford Diane. Wilson pointed her out to me one night at the Stars Club (he was buying, must have taken pity on me), but the guy she was with was wearing enough gold to buy out most of North Korea. She was model-girl pretty, with the tits and ass of a real woman, not a runway runaway. Not for me, dammit!

So here I am, hot, horny, hungry (I mean how much appetite can you have for Ramen noodles?) and crawling around on a roof.

"Excuse me," said a female voice, "we need to get over here--oh, Gerard, how are you?"

People who call me Gerard send a murderous impulse through my brain; it's "Gerry". I gave serious consideration to throwing The Giraffe off the roof. No, the Rents wouldn't like it, and might not pay for my lawyer.

"Hi, Isabelle," I replied, "how're y'all?"

"Great, Gerard, just doing the parapets as part of the Eleven. And you?"

"Some tenants asked us to take a look at the roof." I got a nasty look from Happy. "Oh, this is Mr Rotenberg, my boss. This is Isabelle Gridley. We go to school together."

Happy stood up. "Delighted," he moaned. Happy carefully curbed his enthusiastic impulses.

"Pleased t' meetchu, Mr Rotenberg," Isabelle said. "This is Mr. Sydenham, my boss."

"Hi there," said Sydenham, dismissively. He knew Rotenberg was small potatoes, grubbing for tenant work and cheap storefront installations, not big stuff like Stuhldreyer.

"Let's get together," said The Giraffe --I mean, Isabelle, "two hometown kids in the Big City. Give me your cell." And she put her number in my contacts. Like I might ever call her.

We went off to work, our respective bosses glowering at each other, while trying not to acknowledge each other's existence.

Would you believe Isabelle called me on Thursday?

"Y'wanna get tuh-getha t'morra night? This can be a lonely town, ya know."

"Isabelle, sure, but I don't get paid on this job and I'm only an intern. We can't go anyplace nice." I would never admit this to any girl, but The Giraffe doesn't count.

"That's OK, I get paid t'morra. My treat, OK?"

"That's real neighborly of ya, Isabelle," I replied. "Where should I meet up with ya?" I would never agree to be treated by any girl, but The Giraffe doesn't count.

"Th' Olive Garden on 24th and Eighth. Seven p.m. OK?"

"Sure, sounds great, really I mean it thanks a lot." I wouldn't talk like this to any girl, but--you get the picture.

So there it is. I can sit in a chain restaurant with The Giraffe, which will be like watching my dick wilt, or I can be in my high-priced bedroom, with the three stooges in the living room getting obflusticated on Miller Light watching baseball on the tube. None of them can afford to get laid either. Great start to the week-end, right?

So I'm wearing my last clean shirt and my decent jeans (a concession to The Giraffe's generosity) and sitting in the Olive Garden eating garlic bread and salad. I can't handle pasta, not after all those Ramen noodles. But Coke, real Coke, even that Yankee stuff--y'bet I'll drink that!


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