My New Playaround

You'd never call it love. He will most certainly never love me. It's my money he's interested in. And he's here now every evening to collect. No sooner do I get my kisses and cuddles and my gobsful of ***, and he's out with his palm saying: money. Here for half an hour, then gone into the night like Zorro, his sword going back into its scabbard, horse whinnying at the moon (or is that me?).

His name can be Dep. His agenda to give me what he's willing to take, then pocket the money. Pirate of the Mekong.

But he is beautiful, that much I concede, and he smells, tastes, feels divine, Quite-Divine.
61-65, M
2 Responses May 15, 2012


well not all do that for money ^ ^ I dont need ur money mister..

OK cool. I'm not offering it.

lol ^ ^