Browsing my bookshelves last night, I found myself rediscovering my love for... and re-entering the world of... Tom Poulton, possibly my favorite erotic artist of the last century.
The standard biog, accompanying his Amazon pages, states: "Thomas Leycester Poulton was an English magazine and medical book illustrator, born in 1897. Upon his death in 1963 it was discovered he was also a prolific and imaginative erotic artist who produced hundreds of sketches and finished drawings of women proudly and exuberantly displaying themselves in ways shocking to conservative post-war Britain. The archive remained hidden until the 1990s, when a collector of erotic artifacts passed it on to a fellow collector willing to share it with the world. Though Tom Poulton's work tells us much about English society between 1948 and 1963, there is a universal quality to these images of joyous, uninhibited sexuality that transcends time and place."
What it doesn't say... what you need the books themselves to discover, is just how vivid and vivacious his work was. No exaggerated cartoons or caricatures; no over-arching artistic conceit; Poulton drew life as he saw (or, perhaps, wished he saw) it. His characters are unremarkable - occasionally a stereotype might step into view, but for the most part he drew "ordinary" people doing what... well, to be honest, they are ordinary things, no matter how extraordinary it might makes us feel to watch or even do them. The girl on the pot in the top picture; the couple in the car in the bottom one; we may not know who they are, but we know their stories anyway, the kind of people they are.
To me, Poulton appeals on the same level as period stag movies; indeed, the best of his drawings are stags in graphite, with all the seedy, saucy, salacious and, above all, salacious detail which that description entails. Check out Amazon for the handful of collections of his work that are available... but first, let's just enjoy him.
I knew they were handcuffs the moment I felt the cold metal bite my wrist, as I stretched out one arm to cradle my head. I felt my heart leap in my chest, although whether it was the sudden immobility that startled me most, or the fact that he’d been so gentle all evening, I didn’t know. Neither was every thought that now crossed my mind necessarily a pleasant one… “you’ve been watching too much CSI,” I reassured myself as I tested the strength of the cuffs, but I quickly realized I wouldn’t be freeing myself from them any time soon.
Roughly, he grabbed my other arm and yanked it across the bed, to where another set of cuffs was waiting. I wondered how I’d not spotted them earlier, although I was suddenly noticing a lot of things now - how the room was no longer lit by the lamps he switched on when we first came in, but by a row of candles on the dresser; how the clothes we’d torn off one another in one place were now laying in another; and how the wine glasses that I’d swear we’d drained were now both magically full again.
But the biggest transformation was in Terry, a quiet, considerate guy with whom I’ve been on nodding-acquaintance terms for at least the last six months, and who now crouched menacingly astride me, massaging his cock with exaggerated drama, and staring me down with a hungry leer.
The first time I met him, a girl I was working with brought him along to a party we’d both been invited to, and introduced him as her fiancé. Which, so far as I was concerned, was still the case when I bumped into him this evening, waiting at my usual bus stop.
We said hello, talked till the bus came, then found two seats together before anyone beat us to them. By the time we reached my neighborhood… which turned out to be his as well… I’d learned that Sara, the cute-in-a-slutty-sort-of-way blonde with whom I first met him, had broken off engagement; by the time it was time to actually say goodbye, I was agreeing to go for a drink with him. Well, one drink led to several, which led in turn to dinner, which led us back to his place, a cozy one-bedroom apartment with just enough domestic touches around to make it clear that Sara had not been gone long; a couple of weeks, maybe; a month at most.
But the bathroom was clear of any sign of a woman (the toilet seat was up, for a start), and the first time Terry touched me, our hands inadvertently meeting as we both reached for the wine bottle, he leaped back so apologetically that it was obvious that Sara hadn’t simply left him. She’d taken a lot of his self-confidence with her.
“It’s alright, it was an accident,” I reassured him, then reached out and took his hand in mine. “Now, if you’d done that….” I squeezed his fingers and looked into his eyes, a heavy green that clashed intriguingly with his burgundy shirt. His hand, twice the size of mine, twisted in my grip, and linked fingers with me. He smiled. “Or that?” His other hand reached for my chin and slowly pulled my face to his, to kiss me tentatively on the mouth. I kissed back, parting my lips to accept his tongue, and sliding both hands under his armpits to clasp his back.
He was a cautious lover, an uncertain lover. Even in the bedroom, with our clothes in a heap on the end of the bed (I was sure they were on the end; they definitely weren’t on the chair to the side, which is where they now lay), he moved with a deliberation that was as clumsy as it was gentle, as he gave my pussy little more than a rubbing, and licked my nipples with a puppy-dog tongue. He rolled me onto my back while we kissed, and moved above me; reaching between my legs, I grasped his penis, then guided him slowly… it had to be slowly, for although I was willing, I was still barely wet… inside me.
He lay still for a moment; I could feel my muscles testing the length of his erection, feeling its pulse, surveying its contours, absorbing its heat – and then fluttering in surprise, first as he silently shot his load. I caught my breath, searching for one of those stock phrases that we all use when something like that happens… some girls stick with “it’s okay, it doesn’t matter,” but you know what? It does – especially to him. I always prefer to gasp and tell him how much I love the feel of his cum inside me, maybe fish a drop or two out on my finger, and slip it into my mouth. It works every time.
But before I could even open my mouth, he started to hump me, his hips pounding into mine as though his dick was as hard as it ever could be, and we were both on the edge of the world’s hottest orgasm.
I was surprised, but I played along. He wasn’t the first guy to cum way too early and hope it hadn’t been noticed, although I do sometimes wonder how dense she’d have to be, to truly remain oblivious to all that had suddenly transpired within her: the explosive influx of a mass of sticky warmth, the pounding on the cervix door that fades and then gives up; and the almost indescribable sensation of a hot rod growing soft. Imagine cramming your mouth with a hard King Size candy bar, that suddenly melts on your tongue while squirting hot yogurt into your throat. Now think about how a pussy is at least as sensitive as a mouth, even without the power of taste. But I feigned ignorance, I “came” ecstatically and, for a while we just lay there, my cheek on his chest, content not to speak.
His flaccid length lay on his belly, staring up at me; I stared back, wondering what the chances were of it not rising again tonight, envying the ability that so many men possess, of having sex and then heading straight home. In fact, I was just about to suggest that I should make a move when he placed his hand on the back of my head and began pushing it down towards his lap.
I locked my neck muscles… I’ve had a lot of practice at this maneuver, although it’s been a long time since I actually put it into use; not since college, when even making out with a guy seems to convince him that you’re gagging to give him head. Okay, so Terry and I had certainly gone a lot further than making out, and I’m only half-serious when I insist to myself that I’ll only go down on a guy once I know he’ll return the favor. But, even as Terry hoisted himself into a sitting position, so that I lost my balance and tumbled, I made sure my head remained in neutral waters, my face looking down his leg. Okay, it was definitely time to be going. I moved my arm to cradle my head – and click. I struggled to pull myself out of his grip – and click again.
I was cuffed to the posts at the bottom of the bed, my feet resting on the pillows at the other end. Grabbing one of them, Terry shoved it unceremoniously under my ass, then straddled my stomach, his cock – which was now showing distinct signs of life – sticky between my breasts. He looked down at me and spoke for the first time since we left the front room. “I tried to ask you nicely. Now I’m telling you.” He held his semi-erection in one hand and pushed it towards my face. “Suck it.”
Hardening to a dark bruised blue, the head of his penis was flat against my lips, nudging them apart and pressing against my teeth; I could taste my own juices still vibrant on his skin. Slowly I opened my mouth, not wide enough for him to jam himself in, but sufficient to take in most of the bulb. Using my tongue, I mopped it with saliva, then sucked at it, feeling my own thrill of power as his eyes closed and a low groan escaped his lips. He may have been in the driving seat, but I still had some control over the journey.
My hands pulled at the cuffs; if I was going to do this, I’d like do it properly. But they remained trapped, and the movement only alerted Terry. “Oh no, you’re here until I’m finished with you,” he said; then, withdrawing himself from my still stubbornly tightened mouth with a light plop, he commanded, “wider. Open it wider.”
I shivered a little… I don’t usually get off with a man who plays the master, but Terry did have me at a disadvantage. I obeyed and, for a moment my jaw just hung, as he held his rod just an inch or so away, allowing my nostrils to absorb his scent. Instinctively, I craned my head forward, to take him into my mouth again… he certainly knew how to play this game, I thought, and I felt my own loins quiver warmly as he began to push himself forward, forcing my mouth even wider, scraping against my teeth, pushing my tongue to one side. He wasn’t huge, probably no more than five inches, but he had a lot of circumference, a fat, meaty roll of hardness that was bumping against the very back of my mouth. “Now I’m going to fuck you properly,” he said. “Like I should have done before. ” And, with slow, methodical strokes, he began to do just that, his eyes closed in rapture as he slipped in and out of my mouth.
His hands were caressing his balls; with every thrust, his sac slapped against my chin, reinforcing in my mind the position I was in, at the same time as I felt myself pulsing in time to his movements, finding an excitement in my predicament that even my occasional bondage fantasies had never aroused. If he’d only let me speak for a moment, I thought, I’d tell him what I want him to do… reach behind to touch me, finger me, fist me, anything. And then I heard a door open, footsteps, another voice… and the pulse became a galvanic throbbing that was quaking through my entire body.
“Who’s your friend?” It was a woman… I struggled to place the voice. It was Sara, the fiancé who’d fled, the heartless harpy who broke his heart…. What the hell was going on here? For a moment I imagined myself being caught in the middle of some knockdown fight between two bitter ex-lovers… a trophy for one to bait the other one with. But that was before Terry answered her.
“You know who it is. One of those sluts from your whorehouse downtown.”
She leaned over to look at me, her eyes flashing a spark of recognition, but that was all – we’d never been friends, just workmates; I doubted whether she even knew my name. Instead, she went along with what was clearly Terry’s fantasy, the embittered whoremaster making free with a rival Madame’s merchandise. “Oh, and one of my favorites as well,” she pouted. “Please don’t scar her pretty face, I won’t earn half as much from her ass if you do.”
Now I could see her more clearly, as she leaned across my sightline to kiss Terry on the mouth, before her bare breasts blotted out their faces, and her hard, protruding nipples sank like plum-brown bullets into his chest. For the moment, his movements had stopped, the merest touch of his hard-on poised against my cheek, a thin, gummy film of spit and pre-cum holding it in place. I moved my head slightly to breath deeply and let my tongue moisten my dry, salted lips.
Sara spoke again. The roles had changed; now she was the leader, and Terry just a lackey who prepared her victims for sacrifice. “I think it’s my turn.” Her hand wrapped around his protesting stiffness, lifted it away from my face. “You find yourself another hole. This one’s mine.” She hoisted herself over the foot of the bed, first one leg and then the other, her naked body directly over my face. “So tell me, have you ever eaten pussy before?”
At the other end, I could feel rough hands parting my ass cheeks, and Terry’s hard knob banging at my anus. “No, I haven’t,” I answered truthfully. I almost added “but I thought about it once,” remembering a long ago weekend that I spent at the shore, but Sara was speaking again. “I didn’t think you had. But I bet you like having yours’ licked?”
I remained silent. “Don’t you?” she repeated. “Don’t you just love how it feels when a tongue is prying open your lips, tasting your flesh, swirling and moving inside you, hunting out your most secret spots and then drowning in your juices, while you ride their face with your little clitty, till you feel yourself coming and your whole body explodes? Answer me.”
Damn, the girl had a way with words! “Yes, I love it,” I replied.
“More than you love screwing?”
“Yes.” If it’s done right, that was probably true.
“More than you love sucking cock?”
“Yes.” Again, done right…
“Well, if you love it that much…” Her flesh moved closer to me and, for the first time, I realized… she’d been in too much shadow before… that she was shaven completely bare, the skin gossamer soft as it brushed against my mouth, but already wet as her juices leaked from within her. Tentatively, my tongue reached up to touch her, and her labia parted to the lightest touch, her smell flooding my nostrils, making my mouth water for her taste. I let out a moan; I couldn’t help myself… and another as Terry finally gave up trying to break into my asshole (the angle was wrong; I knew that from the start), and began sliding his dick down my own dripping pussy, as though it, too, were a tongue taking its first ever trip to a place it had only ever dreamed of.
Sara’s breath was coming in short gasps. Stretching my tongue as far as it would reach, I probed deeper inside her and she, sensing my hungry straining, lowered herself a little further, her liquid lips spreading across my mouth as I carried on licking her, relying upon her own subtle shifts and movements to guide my tongue to where she wanted it to be. My nipples were burning, my hole crying out for Terry to fill it, but he was still teasing, his deepest penetration little more than a nudge, the velvety tip grazing me here, there, everywhere, then slipping away as my body begged out for more.
Sara’s clit was beneath my tongue now, a firm erection amid the soft flesh and I wondered how so many men could miss something like that. It wasn’t only the difference in texture that made it stand out, but the difference in reaction as well; as my tongue traced its lines around that hard, red knot, Sara’s body relaxed into the motion; the moment I actually touched it, though, she tensed until every nerve in her body stood to attention and, the more I nuzzled and suckled that tiny, sweet bud, the tauter her body became.
Her hips were rocking, grinding into my face, but my tongue held its ground, drilling into her most sensitive spot while her internal muscles flexed a frenzied beat that matched my racing heart. Pursing my lips, I sucked her into my mouth and I heard her cry out. If I could only have moved, I would have thrown her to the ground, then buried my face back into her, pounded her with my fingers while I licked and flicked and sucked and fucked her with my mouth; instead, I let my face do the fucking, driving my tongue as deep as I could, while jarring her clit with the tip of my nose.
Terry was inside me now, fucking me properly, his hands pawing at my breasts. Once I felt him tongue and then bite at one of my nipples, but the pain just made me more determined to give his fiancé (I think we can safely assume that they were still together after all, no matter what kind of line he’d spun me before) the kind of orgasm that he would never be capable of granting her.
I bucked my hips against him, driving him towards his own grand finale, so that maybe he’d leave us alone, then time stood still as Sara’s body froze. I sensed, rather than heard, the cry building within her; knew that her moment was just inches away. For a split-second, I was uncertain how to react; should I stop what I was doing, let her grind out her own final instructions to my mouth? Or should I do what I would want to have done to me, if the positions were ever to be reversed? As I fully intended they should be?
My tongue lashed out, my lips sucked, my teeth nipped and, as Sara came… once, twice, three times in lightning-fast succession, my own body lurched into orgasmic hyper-space, every inch of my skin screaming in triumph as I came not simply with my sopping cunt, but with my entire soul.
I felt a hot splash on my stomach and breasts; Terry, too, had finally climaxed, pulling sharply out of me as his own juices peaked, and splashing a flood of seed across my torso. Sara, her voice a bare whisper between her purring gasps, commanded him to clean it up, and I felt his rough tongue flicking over my body, as he obeyed her… as everybody, I imagined, would want to obey her.
She slipped off me, her vagina tracing a thick smear of love juice across my cheek as she moved. “Now feed it to her,” she snapped. “It’s what you wanted to do before, isn’t it?”
Terry nodded eagerly, leant forward and slipped his tongue, coated in his own cum, into my mouth. I fastened my lips to his offering, sucked it in and swallowed it down; accepted, too, his dripping, sticky fingers, then obediently lapped at the end of his damp, drooping cock, my mouth so saturated by both his and her juices that I scarcely even felt its last gasps dribbling onto my tongue.
Patiently, I rattled the handcuffs. “Any chance of getting out of these?” I asked. “Being as nothing seems to be happening that I need to be held down for.”
Sara nodded and Terry produced the keys from where he’d dropped them, beneath the bed. As he unlocked me, I stretched each arm luxuriously; both had all but fallen asleep, both were going to ache like hell tomorrow. I suddenly noticed that I was parched. “And a drink?” I asked. Again Sara nodded, and Terry dutifully reached for one of the wine glasses.
“Get her something fresh,” Sara tutted. “Wine? Water? Soda?”
“Soda would be great.” Naked, Terry left the room. “Nice little set-up you guys have here.”
Sara smiled. “Some people aren’t keen, but you can usually spot them early enough… right around the time I put the first handcuff on…”
“You put it on? I thought…”
“Terry’s usually too busy trying to get his cock sucked – or having it sucked, depending on who’s come to call. No, I slip in while the first act’s underway, make the necessary adjustments…” she indicated the candles… “pick up a little; don’t want to get stains on those $400 dollar sweaters, you know; and, of course, get the playthings in place.” She rattled the cuffs. “You must have wondered where they came from?”
“I just thought I hadn’t noticed them,” I smiled. And then, as Terry returned and handed me a Pepsi, I asked her, “so will there be another performance tonight?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Terry’s quite the stallion when he wants to be.” She reached out to squeeze his soft penis and, as she released it, I saw it twitch a nod of gratitude. I repeated the gesture, squeezing the bulb between forefinger and thumb, feeling new life already start to flow. “I think we’re definitely on for another round,” I said; then, leaning forward, I managed to lock both of Sara’s arms into the handcuffs before she even knew what was happening.
She laughed. “The boot is on the other foot, I see. Well don’t worry, I love pussy, too.”
“I’m sure you do,” I told her. “But I’ve not quite decided which I prefer.” Kneeling at Terry’s feet, I took him slowly into my mouth once again, only this time it was on my terms, sucking when I wanted to suck, licking when I wanted a change, allowing every muscle of my mouth to work at restoring him to full length and strength. Only then did I release him, and just a little reluctantly … for a well-oiled prick has a texture all its own… I straddled Sara’s face, lowering myself over her and tensing delightfully as her tongue made its first entry, instinctively traveling to the areas where, after Terry’s earlier efforts, I felt a little sore.
My hands clenched her tits, kneading them in tight, tender fists, feeling her nipples like acorns against my palm. I squeezed and twisted them, slipping my finger tips into the crease between chest and breast and raising them, crushing them, feeling Sara squirm beneath my rough grip. Terry moved down, to take up what was evidently his usual position between the prone girl’s legs, but I told him to halt.
“No. Come here,” I told him. “I want you to fuck us both.” From between my thighs, I heard Sara try to speak, but I already enveloped her mouth, reveling in the feather-light touch of her silken chin and cheeks… I had never imagined how glorious cunnilingus could feel without a man’s tough stubble to scratch at my softest skin, even as his mouth worked to thrill it.
Terry looked sheepish. “Sara doesn’t like to do that,” he mumbled, and I wondered, is that how the pair of them developed this whole routine in the first place, just so Terry could get a blow job without his fiancé getting her lips wet? “Well, it looks like we’re all going to try something different tonight,” I answered and, reaching out, I pulled his hardness towards my pussy as it writhed above Sara’s darting tongue, and wrapped my arms around his back to hold him steady. “Now do it.”
It was an almost impossible position, not only physically, but also for his poor cock, slipping between two inviting holes, unable to decide which one it wanted most. And so it dipped and rose, slid and slithered, one moment burying its head deep inside me, the next pulling out to delve into her mouth. I imagined how Sara must be feeling, as her tongue first lolled onto him, recoiling at the immediate shock of his hard and musky flesh, but fascinated by it as well, flicking back to check it out again, and lingering longer every time.
Very quickly, I realized that, in terms of actual physical pleasure, neither Sara’s tongue nor Terry’s penis was ever going to bring about a repeat of the orgasm that I’d already experienced – not in this position, anyway. But that, I decided, was no longer the point. I reached down between my legs, and began rubbing the top of his shaft, pressing it down onto Sara’s mouth with my fingers, as I surrendered my claim on her tongue.
I slipped to one side; Terry instantly took my place, brushing his free-flowing pre-cum around her cheeks and lips, taunting her with the promise of entry, before withdrawing to dance once again on her nerve-ends. Then, he plunged himself into her mouth, fucking it like he’d fucked mine, oblivious to the grunts of protests that rose within her throat – for he knew, just as I did, that for all her reluctance, she needed him inside her, that even as she tried to complain, her mouth was stretching wide to take him further in, driving him towards orgasm with teeth and tongue and the force of her sunken-cheeked sucking.
Her eyes were closed, her face aglow as her muscles tensed, then relaxed around her greedy ministrations. Terry’s strokes were short now; the rim of his helmet rarely passing her lips – although, on the occasions that it did, her lips hungrily devoured the full extent of his shaft. Now there was no doubting the pleasure she was receiving as she gave it; not even when Terry suddenly jolted and gasped, and his seed began bubbling from her mouth, white and viscous amid her saliva.
Still she gave no indication that she ever wanted the moment to end, though his frantic thrusts were pushing the mixture down into her throat. But, as if to make sure she would have no regrets, I stretched alongside her, and parted her thighs. They opened wide for me and I raised myself slightly, enough to gaze down at her gorgeous, hairless, gleaming pinkness. Then, lowering my head, I started to eat.
“Your what?” I broke the kiss and glared at him. “You said they were away for the night.”
“I guess they came home.”
“I’d better go down and say hi.”
“And what do I do?” I reached for my blouse and began pulling it on, thankful that he’d not done more than reach up my shirt yet.
“Shit, yeah.” He sat up. “You didn’t leave anything downstairs, did you?”
I glanced around. Jacket, purse, shoes... “no, nothing.”
“I’ll pretend to be asleep, then. They’ll go to bed soon enough, I can sneak you out then.”
Sneak? What are we, High Schoolers? I was beginning to feel like it, although that’s what you get for dating a 22-year-old guy who still lives with his folks. I’d even asked him about it once, but he just shrugged and said it was easier for him.
Yeah, easier until he brought a girl home for the night, and then get caught in the act.
“Look, maybe I should just go. Tell them I stopped by to borrow some CDs or something.”
He looked at the clock. “At 2 in the morning? No, just shush. They’ll be asleep soon.”
I sat up, then flopped back down again. Now I really did feel like a High Schooler, being told to “shush” in case I got us into trouble. Good job we had the lights off, I guess.
We lay there in silence for a while, listening to his parents moving around down stairs. Once he whispered an apology to me; once I hissed an exasperated sigh. But then I kissed him again and, as my hand slipped down his body to resume the gentle up-and-downing that I’d been doing before, I had a better idea.
If he didn’t want me to speak, then I’d make damned sure that I couldn’t. And we’d see how quiet he was able to remain, once he felt my mouth on his cock.
I lowered myself and, very slowly, closed my lips around him....
It’s the old, old story. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy meets girl again way too many years later, and discovers that not only is she still as beautiful as he remembers, and that the old feelings haven’t gone away, but they’ve been joined by a bunch of new feelings too. And the only thing that stops the couple from acting them all out on the spot is the fact that they not only live in different time zones, they’re in different countries… different continents, even. So they content themselves with private dreams, shared imaginings, and the occasional saucy e-mailed rejoinder, just to let the other one know they care. A lot.
I dreamed about you last night, and I swear, no-one’s ever done that like that to me before!
There’s definitely a movie there, a XXX rendering of Sleepless In Seattle, only he’d be a lot better looking than Tom Hanks, even if she is as beautiful as the young Meg Ryan. The ingredients are all in place, after all – the suggestions that only go so far, because he’s still too shy, or polite or well-mannered to tell her what’s really on his mind… and she is too, although she can certainly read between the lines that he writes, and when he ends a sentence with a row of dots, each one is a kiss, a lick, a bite, and she either feels or administers every one, depending upon where her imagination was last.
But he’s nervous as well, not wanting to damage a newly-reborn friendship by telling her what he’d really like to be doing, even if it is under the cover of darkness, because no-one can help what they dream about, can they?
I kneel between your parted thighs, my mouth against you, my tongue inside, and I bring you to the most sensational orgasm; then I rise above you with my cock in your mouth, while your hands drive my hips towards a climax of my own.
And so the movie rolls on, and the audience munches its popcorn, wondering when one or the other of them will finally step outside of the fantasies, and actually taste and touch and feel and fuck the real life fantasy that lives on the other side of their in-box. Because it’s getting too hot for them to do anything else, and they both know it’ll be wonderful as well. Even more than it would have been the first time they met.
But we’ll leave it there because we don’t want to spoil the ending and, besides, who knows if there’ll actually be an ending? Even movies can go on forever, especially if you know how to operate the pause button. And what about the additional features? The directors cut? The bonus disc? Even the packaging’s super-deluxe.
A posting on my friend SunLover's page reminded me of my own contributions to the canon of cowboy erotica - a verse that I wrote to a theme of "The Streets of Laredo"...
It's short but I'd love you all to sing along....
As I was streetwalking the streets of Laredo As I was streetwalking Laredo, I lay With four hot young cowboys with cocks in their holsters Four hot young cowboys who wanted to play
The first wanted momma, I gave him my nipple The next wanted holding, to be told "it's alright" The third came in buckets the moment I touched him But the fourth was so hard that I had him all night
I sucked his cock slowly and deepthroated him wholly I tasted his flesh, my jaw stretched so wide His cock was a bronco that bucked with his climax I opened my throat and I took him inside
So if you're streetwalking the streets of Laredo If you're streetwalking, this may sound a bit strange Ignore the three cowboys who hang out by the Walmart And go for the one who says "I cum for spare change"
Following on from my last posting, and the somewhat peculiar responses that filled my e-mail over the last couple of days (seems there's a lot of similarly jilted gentlemen out there), here's a site that's been occupying way too much of my spare time lately... Ex-Girlfriend Revenge... Think of it as the boyfriend getting his own back.
I'm not going to say anything more... beyond adding that if anyone ever posts pictures of me on there, they'd better send me copies of the incriminating evidence first. Cos I wanna post them here as well.....
I'm a writer, not a photographer. So just be aware that the pics on this site were not taken by me, and aren't owned by me either - not even the ones that I'm in. If you are a photographer and find your pics on this site, please get in touch - I'd love to credit you (if you wish), and even use more of your work. If you're here it's because I love the photo!
MISS AMERICA - A BDSM VAMPIRE TALE
An ancient cult, a modern secret society and one of the most extreme erotic adventures you have ever read. Buy it now from Amazon.
Eleven scalding tales of lust and love in the halls of public learning - the town library!
The sex is hot, but the librarians are hotter, as authors Chrissie Bentley and Jenny Swallows reveal the lip-smacking truth about what goes on behind (and on top of, and around as well) the bookshelves.
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