Ruth came home from work. Obviously she and Bronwyn had discussed the swingers club night. The details sounded great. Lots of drinking and lots of fucking. Ruth then shocked me, asking me about anal sex. Apparently Bronwyn had said some guys were into it. We had never done anything like that and Ruth wanted to
“Espresso for one,” I asked the young lady with a cheeky smile and adjusted my shirt as the black-haired maid tapped my order into her faded and outdated till. It fitted in with the rest of the little cafe perfectly, with its tired maroon decor and outdated menu, but it was my favourite cafe in
I believe in variety, lost of variety. That’s why I frequent whores, and places where whores hang out. I guess you could call me a coinsure of prostitutes. I’ve probably been with more than 100 different women who sell their bodies to both men and women. Anyway, I ran across a real sweet amateur last
“Colombia? As in drug cartels?!?” My voice rose an octave and a half as my boss revealed himself to be an alien from the planet Moron. “Who goes to Colombia? Do you realize that country’s on the State Department’s ‘don’t go there’ list?” I continued in the same vein for a few minutes before allowing
Dad raised his hand and was about to hit me. He was drunk as usual and complained that I was costing him too much. He wanted me out of his life. Tears were running down my eyes. I was a young 11-year-old boy living in a city in Russia. My name is Nicholas, and I