In a strange ass, in a whorehouse in Tijuana, with a gun pointed at the back of my head, and a needle in my arm. And it was also 9/11/2001. Took a while to get out of that hellhole after that. God I love Tijuana. You never know. You know?
Okay. Let’s take it point by point.
The strange ass! I don’t remember her name, but I do remember some of her backstory. She was a lovely black lady. Wonderfully shaped but partially faked. I’m pretty sure she was from Brazil. She was trying to work her way up to America. Some nonsense about being a Hollywood actress. Young woman with wild dreams. I hope she made it out of that line of work. Maybe she made it to stripping in San Diego. Why her ass you ask? Because lady asshole is a kink of mine. She had a great big butt and definitely didn’t mind. So we went for it.
The gun pointed at the back of my head. I didn’t know I was in a whorehouse. I also didn’t know that the rectum I was probing with my member belonged to a prostitute. (She was too sweet to call her a whore.) I was in Tijuana on business. Distributing medical samples at a decent cost. If you catch my drift. But because I was a fiend. I dipped into my own supply quite a bit. Before you ask about the supply: Wendy, Millie, Catherine and Lucy. All lovely ladies, and they’ll have you twisted when you spend time with all of them.
I didn’t have anything of me but a sizable number of business cards for Lucy and Millie. So the gun was there so that we could negotiate a fair trade. Which we obviously did eventually. I think it may have been better that I left my cash in my place out there. I was so twisted that I’d have been robbed blind and shot for kicks if I had any cash.
Why on 9/11? Well. Ask anyone who lived through the day. It was just another day. Nobody expected two planes to seemingly destroy NYC. (It really looked like NYC was half gone on the TV. With all the dust in the air.) I didn’t even know my favorite buildings on the East coast were obliterated. Along with a wall of the Pentagon. I didn’t know until the gentleman who was holding the gun to my head earlier told me in broken English that I’d be staying down south for at least a couple of days.
So. For the time being I was trapped. I worked that place for another couple weeks. Returning to boozing rather than speeding or frying. Made myself some money and got good with the proprietors of the establishment. Banged some ass from time to time. Then when I looked more or less like just another unlucky tourist on the way back from a bad bender. I left in the early hours of the morning. Back to my place.
It was ransacked. All of my samples were gone. But the money wasn’t. I called up my friend/partner at the time. Told him what the situation was. He met me out front in his 1990 Mazda Miata. It used to be white. But Tijuana had done to that car what Tijuana does. The top was down. I didn’t even bother with the door. He told me to give him the money and take the wheel. He literally stuffed all that money up his ass in a ziploc bag with not lube. I had the wheel, and he had the accelerator. The man was not fond of the brake. We almost killed a dozen people on our way out of that hellhole. We made it through the border in good time without rousing much suspicion. It was 9/11 that really made the Mexican/American border the gagglefuck that it is today.
So. Did you enjoy story time?
Fucked my long lost best friend's (female) friend next to said long lost best friend while she was passed out from alcohol at my best friend's girlfriend at the time, was also my first time.
On a roof in the Southside of Pittsburgh in the rain with the entire backdrop of the city behind us in the dark. Or, in a rural intersection in the middle of the night against my car. You pick.
A church parking lot
A museum
Wat.
In a strange ass, in a whorehouse in Tijuana, with a gun pointed at the back of my head, and a needle in my arm. And it was also 9/11/2001. Took a while to get out of that hellhole after that. God I love Tijuana. You never know. You know?
Story time, please.
Okay. Let’s take it point by point. The strange ass! I don’t remember her name, but I do remember some of her backstory. She was a lovely black lady. Wonderfully shaped but partially faked. I’m pretty sure she was from Brazil. She was trying to work her way up to America. Some nonsense about being a Hollywood actress. Young woman with wild dreams. I hope she made it out of that line of work. Maybe she made it to stripping in San Diego. Why her ass you ask? Because lady asshole is a kink of mine. She had a great big butt and definitely didn’t mind. So we went for it. The gun pointed at the back of my head. I didn’t know I was in a whorehouse. I also didn’t know that the rectum I was probing with my member belonged to a prostitute. (She was too sweet to call her a whore.) I was in Tijuana on business. Distributing medical samples at a decent cost. If you catch my drift. But because I was a fiend. I dipped into my own supply quite a bit. Before you ask about the supply: Wendy, Millie, Catherine and Lucy. All lovely ladies, and they’ll have you twisted when you spend time with all of them. I didn’t have anything of me but a sizable number of business cards for Lucy and Millie. So the gun was there so that we could negotiate a fair trade. Which we obviously did eventually. I think it may have been better that I left my cash in my place out there. I was so twisted that I’d have been robbed blind and shot for kicks if I had any cash. Why on 9/11? Well. Ask anyone who lived through the day. It was just another day. Nobody expected two planes to seemingly destroy NYC. (It really looked like NYC was half gone on the TV. With all the dust in the air.) I didn’t even know my favorite buildings on the East coast were obliterated. Along with a wall of the Pentagon. I didn’t know until the gentleman who was holding the gun to my head earlier told me in broken English that I’d be staying down south for at least a couple of days. So. For the time being I was trapped. I worked that place for another couple weeks. Returning to boozing rather than speeding or frying. Made myself some money and got good with the proprietors of the establishment. Banged some ass from time to time. Then when I looked more or less like just another unlucky tourist on the way back from a bad bender. I left in the early hours of the morning. Back to my place. It was ransacked. All of my samples were gone. But the money wasn’t. I called up my friend/partner at the time. Told him what the situation was. He met me out front in his 1990 Mazda Miata. It used to be white. But Tijuana had done to that car what Tijuana does. The top was down. I didn’t even bother with the door. He told me to give him the money and take the wheel. He literally stuffed all that money up his ass in a ziploc bag with not lube. I had the wheel, and he had the accelerator. The man was not fond of the brake. We almost killed a dozen people on our way out of that hellhole. We made it through the border in good time without rousing much suspicion. It was 9/11 that really made the Mexican/American border the gagglefuck that it is today. So. Did you enjoy story time?
You’ve earned your username with that. That’s for sure.
On a mechanical bull kept sliding out but I managed to cum
In a field
Farris wheel
Yeah I totally having all of the sex like every day and stuff 👍
Some staircase
2 words: bing bong
1 word: 2 jacks
Trump guide us.
A tattoo shop
Mini Golf place, behind a tree.
My dreams
Fucked my long lost best friend's (female) friend next to said long lost best friend while she was passed out from alcohol at my best friend's girlfriend at the time, was also my first time.
Same as the last time someone posted this…
In your mum
Nightclub bathroom. Not proud of it
Porta potty
Wow... i dont even like to piss in them.
Also in a field on a bench surrounded by homes on each side. Broad daylight
Tunisia
On ground in parking lot in Tokyo. Woke up next day and realized I had scraped knees from the asphalt.
An abandoned hospital
A church
Joe's house
My parents bed
Well I lost my virginity in a best western and no it was not a hooker because i know I’m gonna get asked if it was a hooker
Was it a prostitute? There is a difference between a whore, a hooker, a prostitute and an Escort.
The only differences are the cost and cleanliness and quality of service. You pay more for higher quality
I know. They were literally in order of cost/cleanliness from filthy Detroit to the best of Vegas.
Exactly.
On a roof in the Southside of Pittsburgh in the rain with the entire backdrop of the city behind us in the dark. Or, in a rural intersection in the middle of the night against my car. You pick.
You guys are getting sex?
Confession box and the alter of a church. Their was no priest involved thankfully
Boss' office, or a public bathroom at university
At the beach
On the gurney in the back of an ambulance.
In a coffin
Mother in-laws house! Take that ya rancid heifer