Boffs of the week – Friday night special!!!!

21 Sep

It’s been a while since I’ve had this section, but here we go!!! This is not the boffs of the week!

These were all the boffs I got in a 24 hour period! YES….I was the most requested lady of the night! I am moving up in ho-land.

Mr. Airplane Man
This guy was in town for the air races, and he is an airplane mechanic for a living. A geeky sort of fellow with a few extra pounds, a tucked in plaid shirt and jeans, the bulk of our time was spent AFTER the sex, chilling naked, talking about his job. He fixes vintage airplanes. In the first 30 seconds of talking to him, you can tell he’s passionate about his work. Seeing his face light up to talk about the work that goes into fixing airplanes…I can’t help asking him more questions! I learned about why they use bolts instead of welding. I learned that its difficult to find vintage airplane parts and sometimes you have to make them from scratch. I learned that some of the best engine builders in the world don’t know how to turn on their own engines or fly the planes that use them. And I learned that a hot-headed woman can get herself killed in an airplane by being overly confident. This guy started off a plump geek, but after he talked about his job, I swear to you from the neck up he was sexier than Denzel Washington. I’ve never seen anybody talk about their work with such joy since my father’s glory days. Thank you, Mr. Airplane Man.

Mr. Baseball
He came in one day with his friend because he gets PAID to play SOFTBALL for the indian reservations. Can you believe they do that? He didn’t have enough money to have fun with me on the first day, so he said, “I will be back tomorrow.” ll of us ho’s know that the likelihood of a guy coming back the next day is slim to none. Not only did this guy come back, he waited at least an hour while I was busy with other clients. He said “I was dreaming about you all night.” He meant it too. He told me he had suffered some loss and a failed marriage and hadn’t been able to get off for ages. BUT HE DID WITH THE BABE! He said, “It’s a miracle! I almost want to cry. Thank you.”

Birthday Boy
Oh, Birthday Boy, coming in for your Birthday sex. You were cute and I wanted to give you a good deal because it was your Birthday. I wish I had known in advance your dick was rather large and curved…we’re talking a curve that falls somewhere between the letter “C” and a Parenthesis symbol. You fucked like a rabbit, your C-dick kept unhooking itself from my va-jay-jay. No amount of weird sideways fucking or strange angles could make your c-shaped dick less painful. You fucked the crap outta me…and the look of horror on your face when I had to tell you your time was up and my pussy was out of commission…made me smirk. You wanted to pay me extra money, but no amount of extra money could make the uncomfortable C-dick worth it. So I left you there on my bed in a sex crazed daze, naked….you didn’t even bother to take the condom off when I grabbed Katrina and brought her back to my room to help you make your glorious finish. Never have I run so fast to escape the pain of a dick. I’ve never seen somebody wimper like a little kid over the thought of my va-jay-jay having to go “byebye.” Finally, I’ve met somebody who gets more emotional than me at the thought of losing a really good lay. BRAVO, Birthday Boy!

Cattleman Jim
I recognized you in your sunglasses. You didn’t recognize me in my glasses. I love the way you whisper every time that on top of whatever you will pay me you say, “plus a tip!” in a dirty tennessee drawl. I also love the way you tell me “you’re a dream.” You are the finest southern gentleman client I’ve ever had. And you’re here for a while. See you again soon.

Next Saturday David
You picked me out of a lineup and I realized when you got to my room that your shirt and clothes were dirty, and you looked poor. Amazingly, you pulled out enough money to party with yours truly. Even the security guard said, “I’m surprised that boy had enough money!” What the FUCK is up with you mexicans not wanting to take off your shoes these days? I made you take yours of. You are incredibly skinny and I notice that your waist is smaller than the waist of the skinniest girl in our house. The girl who just lost 18 lbs of muscle because she was on bed rest for 3 months after an injury on the stripper pole. So our skinniest girl is really skinny right now, and David, you are skinnier than her. I”m glad I got you to remove all your clothes, but not your wooden Rosary. I was surprised when you motioned for me to come your way an hour or so later because you wanted to fuck, AGAIN! And I had to have another girl get your friend to translate “HOW DO YOU SAY SORE IN SPANISH!?” So you would understand that I was out of commission and could not take any more clients for the evening. “I come back next Saturday!” you said. “Bring more money so you can party longer!” I said. Lets hope you’ll be back .

Honorable Mention:

GIANT MUSTACHE MAN
OHHHH…Giant mustache man. You keep picking me out of lineup. You have picked me out of this house in the north. You picked me out of a lineup of 20 plus women at a ranch down south. You find me wherever I work, and always pick me, but you never have enough money to party with Brothel Babe. You want to know why? It’s because of your GIANT, CREEPY FUCKING MUSTACHE. I have never seen a mustache SO GIANT in my life, and I am disarmed by its very presence. The amount of hair in this mustache has got to be equivalent to all of the mustaches in Cowboy cinema. It’s creepy like an evildoers mustache, except it does not curl up at the ends. It lays there, like a giant goddamn caterpillar…with two smaller caterpillars on your face for eyebrows…on a bald headed canvas. I will never fuck you. Ever. No money is enough for the trauma I would have to endure for seeing your mustache up close and personal. When you pulled me closer to you in the parlor and said, “Hey, I will lick your pussy good” – that finalized how creepy you really are. YOUR MUSTACHE PROBABLY HAS STD’s. Sorry Mustache Man, we will never be together.

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