dialing it down a notch

It is amazing that I can even type.

Almost six o'clock, and I am going to have to leave and go meet friends for dinner, where I will attempt to form words. I feel as though when I move, I will be like a pool of liquid spreading over the floor, rather than a thing on two legs.

For those still in the various lines, or who emailed hoping to check in later this evening, I am sorry. I have to scrape myself up now and take a shower.

Realize this is not goodbye - I am just dialing it down a notch. I will still be around, still be writing, still reading emails, still available to chat, etc. Just at a much slower pace.

Until next time...


the end is nigh

Well, this is it. Tomorrow, Friday, will be my last full day of summer. Starting next week, my schedule fills back up, and I will only have one, sometimes two, day(s) off per week. And I somehow doubt I will be able to spend all of those lounging around in a tank top and no underwear writing about what I want to do with your cock.

Thus, here is my plan:

Tomorrow afternoon, I am going to get in bed, strip off all of my clothes, bring myself just to the edge, and be yours - for the rest of the day.

We can talk about the wetness between my legs, your cock, my endless summer, your fantasies, or we can discuss the weather, sports, politics, literature, or philosophy. I could not care less. I just want to hear your voice. Not sure when I will be able to do that again. So, if you have been curious about curiousGirl, this is your chance to scratch that, um, itch. Or if you have cum to know me well, stop by and say hello.

If you know how to call me, then you know what to do. Just put yourself in the line if it is busy. If you don't know how to call me, and you are sure you want to know how to call me, then just send an email. If you don't want to talk, for whatever reason, send a note or I will be sad.

Don't worry. I won't be disappearing entirely. I'm trying to think of an appropriate metaphor... something like, once the snake is out of the bag? Or, now that the pussy has found the milk? Or...

I think I will just stop there. Keep in touch, ok?

what i have become

At a cafe yesterday.

Friend: Shit, here comes that asshole guy.

CuriousGirl: (Looks, sees fifty something man coming in the door.) Why is he an asshole?

F: Fucking pervert. He actually slapped my ass one time as I walked by.

CG: Oh. Hmm. (Looks again.) How hard? And was it kind of low down, like where your thigh meets your ass cheek?

F: ...


small pink thing

My vibrator officially died this morning.

I suppose I can't fault it. The poor thing worked hard this summer. I had to dig it out in March when I started this whole, um, thing - couldn't even remember where it was. Finally found it in a drawer somewhere, dusted it off and got busy.

Such a small pink thing. It has buzzed away between my legs while I wrote to you, teased its way along the edge of my clit while I talked to you, and squeezed itself, at times, not so gently, into my cunt while you talked to me. If you heard the recording I made, then you might have even listened to its dulcet buzzing as it brought me to a, yes, ok, an extremely fast climax! (But, damn, that was a good one.)

Now, it lies still on my desk, looking utterly exhausted. Beat up, even.

Should I bury it? Say a small prayer for it? Write a poem in honor of it? Tattoo "Doc Johnson" on that soft place just inside my hip bone? Swear off cumming for, uh, an hour?

And the biggest question of all: What could possibly ever replace it? (Later: Wow... thanks!)



Ever have one of those days where you get all... lubricated, say, on your lunch break or something, and then you have to go back to work? I know you have no idea what I am talking about ;)

I just got a call from one of my clients and have to do some things this afternoon, but I am wet, wet, wet, wet, wet. So, to entertain myself, I am working in a thong and nothing else with the vibrator on (I know, what else is new) and tucked inside the thong. This, of course, is making me highly productive. And taking the time out to write to you about how productive I am is only adding to my productivity. So lovely.

So, back to my wet pussy. If I may give you a brief insight into a fantasy I have? I may have mentioned it, but I would like to take this opportunity to flesh it out, so to speak.

If I could live in a parallel universe where this was possible without risk of death or job loss, I would love to go to one of those truly seedy places which the mayors of NYC have mostly eliminated, and find there a room somewhere where there are men sitting around in a circle (yes, you see where this is going). In the middle would be a seat that was just slightly raised - possibly cushioned. I would sit there, of course.

The men would be able to speak to me, say whatever they wanted, tell me to do things, show them things, play with toys, or have me tell them things. In fact, maybe the first few minutes would just be talking. I would have all of my clothes on. Then later, I would show them more.

This, of course, plays into all of my reoccuring fantasies both of watching men jerk off, and of them not being able to touch me, because, of course, in this scenario, one touch and they would be booted out and never allowed in ever again.

As I am coming up with this little scenario, I was just thinking how great it would be if I knew someone who would even fuck me as part of all of this. A live sex show. How fun.

But that is just getting ahead of myself. For now, I am putting on a solo show. I could have a dildo attached to the little platform. I could lower myself onto it, or back into it, and fuck myself all by myself ;)

At some point, I might even let the men touch themselves - the ones that wanted to, anyway. I imagine there are some that would pride themselves on keeping their hands off of themselves, in spite of the raging hardons they would almost certainly have.

Such a classic fantasy - and yet so hot. A circle of men, cocks in hand, all jerking off at the same time, talking to me, free to say whatever they wanted as long as they didn't touch. I could almost cum just thinking about that.

Ok, sorry, I am just going on and on now, but it occurs to me that I should split the shows into two groups - tops (who would tell me what to do and watch) and bottoms (who I would order about, telling them how fast/slow/hard they could jerk and when to cum).

Sigh. Ok, back to reality. But of course, my clit is raging hard now. Perhaps I can channel that energy into... um, javascript?


I just want you to know that I had a completely normal, uneventful, if mildly flirty dinner (lunch got postponed) with my ex-business-partner the other day.

I think it is important for you to see that I really can have a non-sexual interaction with another human being ;)

Went to yoga this morning, and I am now all nice and sweaty and revved up, iced coffee sitting to my right, new mac humming.

I am going to get a little work done here and then I am going to cum several times and then I am going to do some more work.

One more week, then I will only have one day off a week to be your orgasm-on-request girl, so enjoy me while I last, which, as you may know, can be a long, long time, or thirty seconds, your choice.



Guess who is town today? Yes, her.

She is married now, and quite a proper businesswoman. I think we are going to meet for a very innocent (sorry) lunch, but don't you just wish you could be a fly on the wall? Or casually sit at the next table? Hi, I'd like you to meet the woman who made me cum so many times I almost passed out. Ah, so nice to meet you. Etc.

Well, we will be sitting somewhere in Manhattan around two or three this afternoon, I think, in case you want to imagine this. Maybe our knees will touch a bit under the table or she will, in her corporate wear, stand up at the end and hug me just a little longer than is normally acceptable.

Too bad I can't rope her into my burgeoning porn ring - if she and I could spend a little time together with a cam, I might be able to get going on my novel right away ;)

I'll keep you posted.


bloody mary

I almost came back with nothing. I was ready to apologize about how I had failed you - how I had nothing for you but a few guys staring at my ass here and there. Whew. I can't say that this is as exciting as I had hoped, but it is something. And, anyway, businessmen in airports, especially airport bars, are truly ripe for the picking. So, given the fact that I was in four (airports, not always in the bar) over the last week, I would have felt as though I had lost my touch if I couldn't have netted something mildly tasty.

If I sound like someone who preys on vulnerable, semi-drunk men on business trips, it is only because I am and I do. For whatever reason, though, the first three airports were dry. Literally. The ban on liquids must have been making people tense.

I spotted a perfect candidate buying gum in the store next to my gate, he was even wearing a tie, which kills me, but he got on another plane. I was resigned by the time we boarded. I had a window seat and the row was still empty when I sat down. I put my bag under the seat and as I sat back, I could see a man in a pinstripe shirt - yes, a pinstripe shirt - making his way down the aisle. Please please please please... sit... right... there. Nice.

Older, in his fifties maybe, ring, briefcase, slight paunch. Not that he could tell I was looking. My magazine was suddenly riveting.

I went into high gear - only two hours and forty minutes to get this show on the road. I hate to bore you with my methods. The usual rooting around in my bag, which involves breasts peeking out of my shirt, the utterly cliched spreading of my legs just a bit more than is really necessary, the wandering, restless hands. He looked over three or four times but didn't say anything until after we took off, when he, finally, asked if I lived in New York.

That is always the beginning of the end.

Blah blah blah, pleasantries exchanged, the weather here the weather there, what do you do, he sells some kind of industrial material, blah blah blah, I am a writer, what do you write, well, a variety of things, both above and, well, below ground, really, that's interesting, what do you mean, well, you can read some later if you like, sounds good.

Me back to my magazine, he opens his briefcase, pulls out some papers, starts making notes. Flight attendants come, leave a club soda for me, a bloody Mary for him, could this be any easier?

Waaaaaaiting.... Waaaaaaaaiting... I am drawing something on a notepad and he asks if I am an artist. I say that I make a lot of art, so I may qualify. We have a longish discussion about what constitutes art, and he puts away his papers and the bloody Mary is kicking in and I still have over an hour and a half to go.

He asks if I sell my drawings, and I say that I can't really think about that, that I have to just make things without thinking of them as income generators, but that I do other things to try to support my art habit. Like what, he asks, like write, I say.

I tell him a bit about the more academic writing that I do. He asks to see a snippet, and I open my laptop and show him a section of a piece I am writing for a journal. He reads that, and I laugh and say that this is actually not really where the big money is. He says, oh, and I say, yeah, the other writing I do is a bit less... learned.

Oh, he says, and laughs. Do I get to see that, too? You may, I say, but only something fairly innocent since I have only known you an hour. So I bring up a story that I have been working on for a magazine that is not exactly an outright porn mag, but more of an erotic lit publication. Whatever that means.

He orders another bloody Mary. Shouldn't this count as some kind of upgrade? Businessmen should have to pay a fee to sit next to me for two hours, dammit.

He reads. I wait. So wonderful.

Wow, he finally says, you weren't kidding. No, I wasn't. I count backwards from three... two... one...

Do you have any more?

As a matter of fact I do. I pull out another story, several notches raunchier and pass the laptop back over.

Now he is dying. I can't see what is going on because his little folding table is blocking my view, but he is clearly distracted. He reads to about halfway and then looks up. How much do you get for this, he asks.

Not that much, really, but it buys me a bit of time to write about other things, and to spend some time in my studio. I also get donations here and there from other... supporters of my work.

He asks if it is true. I say yes. Writing fiction bores me to tears. I can only write about things that have happened to me, or about things that I make happen so that I can write about them. I am smiling now. I don't think he understands why.

He keeps reading. I think he is a little embarassed now, but he is not going to stop. At the end, he laughs a little. Wow, he says again. I know, I say, but it gets the job done. I guess so, he says, but I should probably stop reading this stuff right now. I laugh. Sorry, I say.

He hands the laptop back to me, and I put it away.

He tries to make conversation, but he is flushed now, moving his empty cup around on the table. He asks how long I have been doing this kind of thing, how old I am, etc. He is talking a bit more quietly now, so I have to lean towards him to hear.

I wish I were reading that at home, he says, and I say, I know, it would be more fun. Absolutely, he says. I could just close the door to my little office, and, you know, have fun with it. Right, I said.

Sounds like you have had a lot of interesting experiences in your life, he says. A few, I say, just a few. But I started out very innocent in many ways. I was actually a virgin until I was almost twenty seven. At least, with men.

Oh, he says, and he is almost whispering now. The noise of the engines has gone down a notch and no one is talking around us. I would tell you about what happened when I was twenty seven to open my... eyes, I said, but I think I would be entertaining most of the economy section of this plane.

I think you are right, he said. Maybe you could write it?

I thought this was a hilarious idea and pulled my laptop out again. I moved into the middle seat, just next to him, so he could see the screen and started typing. I have cut and pasted what I typed below.


So, I lost my virginity, to penises, when I was twenty seven. If we were flying to Australia, I would tell you how I lost my virginity to other things earlier, but we only have an hour or so left, so this will have to do.

(The man in front of us just turned around to look... did he hear us talking earlier?)

This story is actually very sweet. Very vanilla in a way. But you asked ;)

I was dating a woman when I first saw this guy. He came into a cafe where I worked. I knew almost immediately that I wanted him.

I'll skip all of the seduction stuff, but I actually didn't have to work too hard. he was really smart. Once we started talking, it was pretty much a done deal. I'll call him C.

***I am inserting this later... I could sort of see what was going on under his fold out table from my new vantage point, and the poor man was in trouble. At one point, his cock was actually pushing up on the bottom of the table a bit, which really killed me.***

C and I teased each other for a long time, but the night he finally got in the door, so to speak, he was over at my house. We had this joke that I was going to end up being the oldest virgin on the planet. He said that he felt it was his duty to save me from this fate. I said I was kind of enjoying the status it gave me at that point, and would hate to join the crowd.

***My travel companion laughed at this point and said something about that being hard to believe.***

C asked if he could at least try, and if I said no, then he would stop. RIGHT, I said. I am just going to lick you, he said. And you are going to do this better than a woman, I said. Good luck.

So he pushed me back on the bed - it was a single futon, actually, and he was sort of kneeling on the floor. He pushed down on my bladder a bit, which felt really good, actually, and just put his mouth over my underwear. Which were white, by the way, because that is what virgins wear... white underwear. ;)

All he did was blow hot air, right onto my clit. I had never had anyone do that. I loved it. He did that for a long time before he very slowly spread open my legs, bent one of my knees a bit, and pushed it back.

Then he slid his toungue over my underwear, which was now marred by a huge wet spot, over to the crease of my leg and under the elastic. He sort of pushed it out of the way and worked his way back over towards my pussy lips.

***Ok, he was fucking ROCK hard now reading this. Which, of course, makes me insane. But I was kind of stuck too, so I kept typing.***

He was very gentle with my clit, which I loved, but at one point I looked down and saw that his cock was out and he was rubbing it on the edge of the bed while he licked me. Even to this day, I can't tell you what the memory of this does to me. I could see his hips moving up and down, the pink tip of his cock appearing and disappearing, the precum oozing onto my sheets making a stain that I would find later.

He started licking me at the same speed that he was jacking himself on the bed. I was moaning openly at this point.

***Speaking of precum. Major leakage showing through for my businessman. I stopped and whispered this to him and he nodded but told me to keep typing.I started up again, but he stopped me and put his mouth close to my ear. If I were at home, I'd jerk off so hard right now my cum would hit the wall. Fuck. Oh, man.***

(Ok, I can see you are having some trouble right now. But this last part is pretty fast anyway, so you can make it... ;)

C was getting really excited now, his shaft pressing into the edge of the bed, hips jerking, jeans around his knees. He slid his tongue deeper into me, and slid a finger in with his tongue. He fucked me deeply with his finger while working my clit with his tongue, and then reached around to my asshole with his other hand. This was a first for me at that time, but he slid his index finger into my asshole before I knew what he was doing. And that was it. I was clinically insane, moaning, screaming, panting, my cunt bearing down on his hands, each in a hole. He slid more fingers into my vagina and started pumping them faster, just leaving the finger in my ass still and deep.

***Businessman in pain. I could see him try to scissor his knees a bit, putting some pressure on his balls, which must have felt like they were going to explode by now. So, of course I had to tease him...***

(How are you doing? I have to admit, I love making you crazy like this. I can see your swollen cock even as I am typing. I bet you would love to take me in the bathroom and bend me over that little, tiny sink right now. I bet you would love it if I could take that hard cock into my mouth and suck it deep into my throat. Do you like to fuck hard? Because I do. I can take it really hard... do you like to pound it? My cunt is wet right now...)

At the last moment, C slipped his cock in me. I think he thought that I wouldn't even notice - just replace fingers with cock and keep going. But I noticed. I absolutely noticed. And in that moment, as he hunched over me and I could feel the heat of him inside of me, his balls slapping against my wet skin, I thought - why the fuck did I wait so long?

I pulled my knees back and urged him on. Fuck me. Come on. Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Come on.

You are so tight, he said. So fucking tight. Ah... god....

Needless to say, we both came so hard that I think the neighborhood knew that I had finally been fucked.

(How are you? Deeeep breath. Didn't this make the flight go faster...lol :)

***He leaned over again. Come with me. I want to feel your tight pussy. Come with me to the bathroom. Ah, fuck. I want to fuck your little pussy.***


I wish I could tell you that I went into the bathroom with him, but I didn't. He didn't want to walk to the bathrooms in the back because he said everyone would see his raging hardon, and I wouldn't go to the bathrooms in the front because I said everyone would see me follow him in there. So we were at an impasse.

He was actually pretty nice about it. I am going to imagine your titties while I am in there, he said. And if you change your mind... knock.

So up he went! Hilarious. Of course, now I was the one dying. But it is so easy for chicks. All we need is an airplane blanket over our lap. I moved back to the window, put my seat back and slid my hand between my legs. I came in, I kid you not, maybe three minutes or less. He wasn't even back from the bathroom. Just the thought of him in there... well, you have read enough of my fantasies to know what that did to me.

Just before I came, I did hold back for a minute, though. I love that moment, my finger resting gently on the rock hard nub of my clit, ready to explode, the walls of my cunt already contracting, vibrating. Wetness oozing from my pussy lips, longing for the feel of a long, hard shaft pushing its way in.

I came just as the bathroom door opened and I smiled at him walking back down the aisle as the orgasm rocked me.

So, there you go. I know... nothing particularly orignal or daring, but it was the best I could do in two hours and forty minutes. Time was running out!

I know I have been working and then away for what must seem like forever, but clearly, I have not forgotten my duty to you. I want to make you hard. A lot. I want you to imagine yourself with me, and jerk yourself off over and over while you read these words. I want you to think of me at the most inopportune moments and have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. I want to take care of you, and I want you to completely let go and use me for your pleasure. Because, conveniently for you, that is what gives me pleasure.

I have a houseguest today and tomorrow, which is going to drive me a bit mad since all I want to do is cum for you all afternoon. She is away for a few hours, so I might have some time, but I will try to be around next week.

I've missed you. If I haven't responded to your emails, please don't be mad. This is my first day home and with time to really read them.

So. Horny. I'll be thinking of you today.



In an airport. Yes, you know what that means. On the prowl for new stories for you.

Just overheard in the bar... man on cellphone: Aw, dude, I thought they were gonna suck me off at that meeting today.

An auspicious start.


the soundtrack for this lonely day

drink up, baby down
mmm, are you in or are you out
leave your things behind
'cause it's all going off without you
excuse me, too busy you're writing your tragedy
these mishaps
you bubble wrap
when you've no idea what you're like

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

it gains the more it gives
and then it rises with the fall
so hand me that remote
can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow

such boundless pleasure
we've no time for later now
you can't await your own arrival
you've 20 seconds to comply

- from "let go" by frou frou

advance and retreat

Yes, for those who have been with me for awhile on this journey, I made some changes around here. Thinking hard over here, as usual. Sex and thinking have a very uneasy relationship, I have noticed. Hard to do both at the same time ;) Thus, the seesawing nature of my posts.

Besides rearranging the furniture here in blogland, I have also gotten a huge chunk of freelance work that comes with a huge deadline, so I have been focused on that to the detriment of all emails, chats in various media, and other distractions. So, forgive me if I am quiet lately. This happens sometimes.

This might continue for awhile. Depends on whether I get more work from this client. So if you don't hear from me, or haven't heard from me recently, don't be sad. While I slave away for a different kind of Man, I'll be daydreaming of you and your fabulously huge... intellect.



Sorry, just a quick tech interruption...

FYI, if you get tired of having to click through to all of the webpages that you like to look at often, including the most important one by yours truly, remember that this page does have a feed. If you know what this means, then go forth and prosper. If you don't, then read on.

RSS feeds let you keep track of all of the latest posts on all of the news sites and weblogs that you read - but all on one page so you don't have to browse over to all of them one by one. Nice!

The easiest way to collect all of the feeds onto one page is to use one of the services (called "aggregators") like Bloglines, for example. It takes about ten seconds to set up an account, then you just click on "add feed," and then add the URLs to the feeds of all of the sites you want to keep track of.

How do you find the feeds on the weblogs? Usually there is a link somewhere on them that says "RSS" or "FEED" or some combo. Just click on that link and then cut and paste the address of the page you get taken to into Bloglines. (If you have a PC, you can just right click on the link itself and copy/paste the URL into Bloglines).

Where is MY feed? Why it is right here. (Or, just cut and paste the following address into Bloglines: http://curious-grl.blogspot.com/rss.xml)

Then, voila, you will have one page that will have all of the latest posts on it from all of the blogs you read. Saves a lot of time. Plus, you will know the second that I update, which is what really matters...

PS. The absolute easiest way to do this is to use Mozilla Firefox as your browser and click on the little orange button on the lower right hand corder of the browser. You can create a bookmark that is a feed - in other words, it works like a bookmark, but whan you click it, you see the titles of my last few posts...

car service

Sex and violence live so close together. Yesterday, I was both terrified and more turned on than I have been all summer, which, as you might know, is saying a lot.

I called a car service to come get me from the grocery store, of all of the most innocent places. When the car arrived, I loaded my bags in the back and got in the back, directly behind the driver. He was Russian, I think. Shaved head, tattoos, gold necklace. Loud, thumping music.

But here is the thing I cannot get my head around completely - I know that I have been very... well, I am sure I am sending out some signals, both in my manner and dress, to those who are keeping an eye out for it. But still, I am contantly surprised how just under the surface the darker side of eroticism really lies. And here is another example.

We are driving towards my house and I am reading a magazine. He is stopping and starting a lot - clearly agitated, trying to get around slow cars, running through yellow lights, etc. I don't pay much attention for awhile - typical taxi/car behavior. But at one point, he really puts on the brakes and I have to reach forward and grab the back of the seat in front of me to brace myself.

I look ahead and the guy in the car ahead of us is driving slowly and not letting my driver pass. At one point, the window of the car ahead opens and out comes a hand making a long series of obscene hand gestures, most of which I did not even know existed. At this point, I had to laugh. Wow, I said. Creative.

My driver did not laugh. But he glanced back at me. Ok, yes, I was yet again braless in the heat, my typically thin t-shirt damp against my nipples, my face flushed. But I really was not even thinking about sex at this moment, I swear! But he looked back and down several times until I realized, shit, when I was watching the show up ahead, I had scooted forward on the faux-leather seat and my knees had fallen open a bit.

I had a short skirt on with, also typical for me lately, no underwear on. My driver tilted his mirror to get a better view. This time I laughed. Sorry, I said, and sat back. He just shrugged a little, but I leaned forward just in time to catch him doing a quick squeeze with the hand in his lap.

I just want to say that I had such a rush of wetness to my cunt at that moment, I actually felt lightheaded. But at that moment, we came to a stoplight just behind the car that had been, um, signalling to him earlier. I thought something was odd when he put the car in park, but then he opened the door, went to the trunk and pulled out a baseball bat. I leaned out the window saying, wait, wait, what are you doing, but he ran up to the car ahead and kicked the side of it.

Needless to say, they rolled up all of their windows and stayed put. He made gestures as if he was going to hit the window with the bat several times, but didn't, thank god, do it. He just kicked the side of the car once or twice more, and then came back to the car.

I was completely freaked out. Who the fuck threatens someone with a bat because they were flipped off while driving? People with deep anger issues, that's who. And I am in the car with one. Fabulous.

We drive again. I am sitting forward a bit. Suddenly, he said, sit back, I can't see out my mirror. So I sit back. My legs are partially open. Then I see his shoulder and upper arm moving - I can't see over the seat to know exactly what he is doing but I can guess. So, forgive me, but I open my legs a bit wider.

And while we are driving down the highway, he gets more and more into it. The music was really loud, and I didn't do anything but sit there, heart pounding, cunt dripping, while his arm went faster and faster. This went on for about five minutes. He didn't say anything or show any sign that he had cum. Just, at some point, I noticed that he was zipping up, and then we were coming to my exit.

We just drove for a few minutes to my house, I paid him, and got out. That was it! I mean, how bizarre. The baseball bat thing ALONE would have been completely freaky.

I have to say, I was a little overwhelmed for about an hour after that. I think, mostly, I am nervous about the energy that I am drawing towards me and the fine line between the erotic and the deeply neurotic. The short version of this concern? I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway.

At the start of this experiment, I met a few people in person in indirect ways, but this will not happen again. Not unless I have come to know them over time and we work out a kind of arrangement that, frankly, compensates me for the risk I would take to meet in person. A risk that is hard to really understand if you are a man and have not seen life from this side of the gender line. As unbelievably hot and weird as yesterday was, in the end, it was an unsubtle wake up call to keep this boundary firmly in place.

I was reading through craiglist on the erotic services board, and I am sorry to bring up class issues, but for many of the women offering themselves that way, the financial need outweighs the risk, and I would bet that they put themselves into almost as much risk just walking down the street of their neighborhood in broad daylight.

I think that younger, more educated women who are doing this kind of thing tend to work for upscale services. I considered this briefly, but the problem is that I am too picky. Not everyone turns me on, and I am not interested in having to spend time with everyone who comes down the conveyor belt. The thought of that makes me feel ill.

So I am on my own to experiment through labor day. Thanks again for cumming along for the ride.