fuck buddy needed for horny woman:
Searching for 1 x fuck buddy. (Or two, if they’re going.) Someone who will respond to booty calls, often after one or two glasses of sauvignon blanc, or more accurately after a right thrashing at a nightclub involving Jagerbombs and ridiculously cheesy music. No moonlight walks on beach, or in this case Emmarentia Dam, necessary. Or poetry and roses. Or chats about love, the future, or your mother. Just a bang, in my lunch break or after a long day at the office. Am a party-going girl, with an incessant love of stiletto heels, tequila slammers, music, travel literature and Nivea Shimmering Body Lotion, not to mention a healthy obsession with boofing in the very primal sense.
I’m looking for a temporary fuck buddy to ease me through the horniness that bestows me like the bubonic plague. Falling in love with me means that this arrangement becomes null and void, and therefore I would need to rerun this advertisement – please don’t take it personally. Must be able to deal with various positions of amoenus, with particular reference to the Retarded Spaniel, the Edgy Cock A Doodle Do and my nature for blending these two together on upholstered chairs. That said, missionary will do at this point in time.
No excessive back hair, or the wearing of tight boy-shorts, or men younger than 18 or older than 45, unless you bear an uncanny resemblance to George Clooney. (If I can buy my lingerie from La Senza, then you can wear boxer shorts.) If I grope you, please don’t grope me back unless I flash you my wine eyes. Oh and please cook me one decent meal. Must be able to do pearl necklaces, make me laugh uproariously, and not be intimidated by my excessive wit and intellect, or my vibrator. Please smell like a man. And most importantly: don’t know anybody that I know. Even if you’re my ex’s fifth cousin once removed.
In turn I will lavish you with passion unbeknownst to you before, and I promise I won’t write about it on my blog.
Contact: Peas O’Toast at 555-555-5.
PS: I posted this herein because The Star refuses to publish it in their Classifieds section. Bastards.
PPS: I met two of my blog buddies last night. I haven't done this in the past, set out to meet my blog friends. But I thought I'd make one exception. Although I promised to hole myself up for the rest of eternity, I couldn't resist the temptation to venture out and munch pizza with two individuals I know bloggy-well. It was great: one has perfect elocution, the other a beautiful smile. It was great to put faces onto words, so to speak. Oh, and the Frenchies won the soccer. Third Roommate is pissed off.