soapboxdiner

SBD if you're Nasty

I just want to know one thing, and that is this:

What in the HELL is wrong with me?

Remember a couple of entries ago when I was all talking about The Man's friend I want to do all sorts of freaky unmentionable things with but as of this precise moment had not yet consumated? Well lo, there I was sitting at home tonight minding my very own business when a wayward knock came upon my door. In walked Mr. Nasty himself drawling in his slow, deep Southern rumble, "Hello SBD. I came to see you, are you happy to see me? I sure am happy to see you. I been thinking about you, girl."

And like one of those fantasy's we all have where some faceless man sweeps us up into his taut beefy arms and ravishes every single inch of our bodies until there is nothing left but a limp and quivering mass of pure satisfaction, Mr. Nasty teased and tickled, grabbed pulled sucked and spanked me, trying to get me to give in. And I enjoyed the hell out if it, but I didn't give it up.

And therefore, the question of the night remains...

What in the HELL is wrong with me?

10:27 pm - 10.12.04
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