I can act like such a teenager sometimes. Paul has
arranged for me to visit the Model next week to put her financial affairs in order.
I composed hundreds of emails to Miss Catfish and deleted every single one of them. I’ve never been
scared to take the bull by the horns when it comes to sex, and nine times out
of ten I’ve come away with what I want. (Pun
intended).
The problem isn’t that I feared that I’d misinterpreted
anything. I would dearly love to fuck her, and she made it abundantly clear
that getting into my knickers was something she happily envisaged. However, I do
have to tread a little carefully here, possibly with more care than when I made
the momentous decision to suck my boss’s cock for the first time. It’s not
cowardice that made me delete each email I’d composed. The reason why I decided
against sending any of them is that I discovered in my attempts to sound witty,
provocative and confidently bisexual, I’m trying far too hard. So for now I shall
just be most business-like in my correspondence.
On the day in question, of course, I will have "forgotten"
to wear any knickers.
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