Charly is the biggest woman I’ve ever met. And it’s not fat either. OK, maybe she’s a little doughy around the mid-section, but it suits her. It adds to her wonderful sense of bulk.
Your girl doesn’t take it there, does she? She’s a good girl.
She said she liked me, really liked me. But then, lap dancers always say that. Right?
I’m not that sort of girl. Not normally. I only have sex with boyfriends, with men who love me. Maybe the occasional one-night adventure, but I always know their name. I’m a good girl.
Katy wouldn’t let me put my hand in her knickers. Not at first.
Someone once told me you can tell the difference between a cheap suit and an expensive one from a mile away. I was dubious, but perhaps they were right. As the suit He wore looked like a work of art. It was so sharp it must have been cut with razor blades. The material was so sumptuous it likely cost more than someone like me would make in a lifetime. He sat at the table before us and ate alone.