ALWAYS WITH A BRIDESMAID
She sent me the one and only picture she had on her PC. It was her, in a silky cream number, with a plunging neckline, and an unflattering waist, standing outside the synagogue on the day her friend got married.
Set against her flat-chested, pretty friend to her right she looked a little on the plump side. But then set against the third of the troika, she looked positively skinny. Besides, she had a pretty face. Her correspondence was cheeky. And her voice was soothing. She's even reading the same book as me right now (so now I'm racing to ensure I remain three chapters ahead).
I'm seeing her on Saturday night, and I'm quite looking forward to it. She reminds me of a South-African ex of mine, a curvaceous bottle-blond who shared a flat with a friend she no longer speaks to.
The first time we went out she picked me up in her car from outside the restaurant where I'd been dining with my parents. We went back to mine. I told her I was leaving the country about a week later. She said that meant we had to things faster. So we did. Even now I smile when I recall how her soft, rounded buttocks would quiver between each thrust as I slammed into her from behind. She was fun but, like most of my exes, now loved up and on the brink of marriage in a far-away land.
Not that quaking arses are on the agenda for Saturday night. I expect the evening will entail copious quantities of alcohol (for her) and fine food (for me). She says she plays table tennis and reckons she's good. Sadly the sports centre won't be open by the time the Sabbath ends. And anyway, last time I took a girl to on a table-tennis playing date, I never saw her again, even though I let her win a couple of games (competitive I may be, but I'm still a gentleman).
She sent me the one and only picture she had on her PC. It was her, in a silky cream number, with a plunging neckline, and an unflattering waist, standing outside the synagogue on the day her friend got married.
Set against her flat-chested, pretty friend to her right she looked a little on the plump side. But then set against the third of the troika, she looked positively skinny. Besides, she had a pretty face. Her correspondence was cheeky. And her voice was soothing. She's even reading the same book as me right now (so now I'm racing to ensure I remain three chapters ahead).
I'm seeing her on Saturday night, and I'm quite looking forward to it. She reminds me of a South-African ex of mine, a curvaceous bottle-blond who shared a flat with a friend she no longer speaks to.
The first time we went out she picked me up in her car from outside the restaurant where I'd been dining with my parents. We went back to mine. I told her I was leaving the country about a week later. She said that meant we had to things faster. So we did. Even now I smile when I recall how her soft, rounded buttocks would quiver between each thrust as I slammed into her from behind. She was fun but, like most of my exes, now loved up and on the brink of marriage in a far-away land.
Not that quaking arses are on the agenda for Saturday night. I expect the evening will entail copious quantities of alcohol (for her) and fine food (for me). She says she plays table tennis and reckons she's good. Sadly the sports centre won't be open by the time the Sabbath ends. And anyway, last time I took a girl to on a table-tennis playing date, I never saw her again, even though I let her win a couple of games (competitive I may be, but I'm still a gentleman).
posted by David Cohen at 12:45 am
2 Comments:
that guy that you got to go on tv by accident is getting a movie deal dude! HA HA HA!
So they say. But as it's August - aka "the silly season" and it's in The Sun, I'll err on the side of it being bollocks until it's proven otherwise!
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