And she had each ponytail tied up with a narrow piece of royal blue ribbon, done up in almost-identical bows hanging over the top of each ear. She had a rather plain-looking unremarkable face, accented with fuck only the minutest touch of makeup, which did help to make her face look a little bit more attractive than it really was. And she had a slender, boyish-looking body that no guy in his right mind would ever describe as being "built like a brick shit-house." But then John wasn't exactly a "Mel Gibson" either. He was already at least masturbating 35 pounds overweight, with most of that excess fat being deposited around his stomach and waist, in the classic "tire-tube pattern" that middle-aged wives are all too familiar with. He had shower thick busty brown hair, which was about the only thing that he had in common with the lady just described in the previous paragraphs. And John was already going prematurely bald. But he had enough hair covering the rest of his body to more than make up for the noticeable lack-of-hair on the very top of his head. He wore brown horn-rimmed glasses, was a high-end computer analyst by profession, and most of the women who knew him considered him to be a nerdy type of guy. Definitely not the type of guy that a woman would normally get the hots for. But since John had money, and all of the exorbitant trappings to go along with it, he also had been blessed with the good fortune of being able to bed almost all of the women that he had ever actively tried to pick up. There are a lot of gold-diggers in this world, and John knew it. And he also didn't give a damn. Because the only thing he ever really wanted from any of those dildo women that he picked up, was the use of their female genitals for a night or two. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to let them know that fact in advance. Instead, John would always wait until he had first gotten what he had wanted, before he would finally "spill the beans," and let the woman know that she didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of establishing any kind of on-going relationship with him, or with his money. But tonight, John wasn't feeling particularly horny. And so he wasn't trying to pick up any women, although there were a few of them sitting at various locations throughout the small tavern. Instead, John was lost in his own thoughts and staring into the mirror behind the bar, when the sweater-and-boot-clad, girlish-looking woman approached him. The moment that she sat down beside him, she enthusiastically announced, "Hi, my name's Lisa Chadwick. What's yours?" Oh God, she sounds just like a Talking Barbie doll, John thought to himself. And a Talking Barbie doll was the last thing that John needed right now. Without even looking at her, he dryly replied, "John," and he automatically took another sip of his Colorado Bulldog. He was still lost in his own daydreams and unconsciously shaking his head, when she said, "I'm sorry. I really don't know how to go about doing this kind of thing any more. I guess I'll just go sit at a table or something." "No no, that's okay," he curvy said, still half-way locked into his daydream state. "It's a free country. Go ahead and have a seat." "Are you sure about that?" John finally glanced over at her for a moment. "Look, lady, I don't bite. At least, not very hard. But I am guilty of howling at the moon from time to time. I guess it's just a trait that comes from being a Ridgeway." This was John's poor attempt at humor. He usually wasn't a very funny kind of guy. People tended to laugh at him much more often than they tended to laugh with him. So he immediately turned back towards his sickly-sweet drink, and tried to mentally transport himself back into the same daydream. "Being a what?" she asked. Your husband did commit suicide so the proper form to address you are like if you was unmarried unless the person talking to you are very much below you in rank. Suzy...that witch seemed to be haunting his every step. None of us care what you’re wearing; or not. “Will do, Brad. As we went inside, a guy from behind the counter shouted, “AMY!” He jumped down from the counter area to rush poor Amy. "Aren't you happy?" she asked. "Cool, so does that mean I can watch?" “Well of course they do. Her short, blonde hair framed her motherly face, her blue eyes twinkling. He gave her a confident smile, then pulled her scrunchy off, undoing her ponytail and letting her long shiny hair cascade down her back before moving it to the side shower and kissing her elegant fuck neck. "No, you're gorgeous! Stop being a brat. “Should we call it in...?”, one of the men continued, both still keeping their eyes on Rose. “Karen!” snarled the nerd as he filled my cunt with more spurts of jizz. I loved it! Everyday she’d make fun of me and bust my chops constantly. In no time it is lunch and they are luring their little boy away to eat. “You are whatever busty I want you to be, or did you forget… I own you. After drying dildo each other I grabbed another two from the locker to sit on. Becky screeched, almost running toward me for a tight hug. She quickly sheds her clothes. “I am and I will take care of it, I spilled something and just trying to be helpful.” He was a little scared now, what if she starts looking around. He remembered kissing his next door neighbor and even though he was always a big boy, the girl next door was 7 years older than he was and she showed him where to put his hands just like this lady was doing to his aunt. Whether you used the name Sadie O’ Malley or Sadie Taylor, someone should curvy have picked up on it and notify me.” Forgive me.’ Allison felt as though she should be confused. You’re never going to make it to the top.” John Ridgeway was only 18-years-old, when he woke up late one night to find his twin sister, Valerie, in bed with him, and playing with his little mushroom-shaped dick--which was already erect, due to a very erotic dream he had been having. He had a small two bedroom house three blocks behind the store. "That's good masturbating to hear boy, that's good to hear...