So happier, healthier, and at large in a new city -- having sex all the time -- you'd think I'd be content to let the parade of boys go by without making any serious attempt to molest them. I mean, haven't I had enough by the end of the day?
Au contraire.
As sometimes happens with the highly sexed, the tirelessly libidinous, the friction from the frottage gets the wheel turning, and furthermore, builds it up. This is perpetual momentum, driving me forward from the hips.
I'm absolutely incorrigible.
I feel like a boy with a new toy, but it's probably the sense of adventure. Illicit thrills have always pushed my buttons, and all these new beginnings, fresh starts and fresh faces, have my body in perpetual blush: all the blood rises to the surface. I'm giving off heat. So, in addition to keeping a roster of clients satiated and sufficiently popped-off, I have been sequentially turning my attentions towards recreation, at large in the community. Oh, yes. Yes I have.
"Be careful, sweetie," my friend said to me. "You don't want it to fall off."
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