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Regardless of how quickly I moved to the side of the cemetery, my athletes in rowing on the bed usually were about 18-20 years old. Once, however, I was brought hard on the femin by two years older than me. The end of the story was sad and predictable: this sudden ferdibobel ended in complete marriage. Therefore, in order to avoid further sharp turns in my life, I began to cherish and cherish my innate passion for “Komsomolsk and sportswomen”, and it flourished in full color, giving me the opportunity to enjoy nymphet until now in full compliance with current legislation.

In order not to spread by the seed to the womb, at once cut off the memories of the misalignments that took place, with an insignificant difference for me in the age category - 10-15 years. I'd rather tell you a love story in which I was 26 years older, and my beloved was 19, and she was good. Do not strain: yes, I was then 45.

By the time of our casual acquaintance, I was already a fully formed person: a cynical misanthrope who was disappointed in life, hunted wild chickens in the endless fields of numerous network resources and fished out belydyug and prosped out of the turbid waters of entertainment establishments, having opened his own nightly for these low-key but pleasant goals club.

That Friday we had an Indian party. A set of oriental sweets consisted of belly dancers, hookahs and half-dead music performed by strange dread-like people. To the sounds of tamtam, they extracted something rhythmically mournful from long pipes facing the floor. I dressed appropriately: in the Uzbek robe and skullcap, which I purchased at the Tashkent bazaar several years ago. On his forehead he stuck a red drop-shaped sequin, imperceptibly tearing it from the belly of the dancer while she smoked in the dark.

Transformed this way to Raj Kapoor and spreading my hair a la “dirty rocker”, I walked around the room with brushes and colors at the ready. At my own request, I made guests free body art, painting them under the Indian Khokhloma. Someone asked to draw a spider on a bare shoulder, someone had a flower on her chest - no one refused. Well, except for men, of course: I didn’t want to squeeze them, either in general or in the process of creativity.

At five o'clock in the morning, having felt a dozen girls of varying degrees of intoxication and having worn out a fair amount of special paint for underwear painting, I was going to move home without a jerk. I didn't manage to lure any starlet to my lair as a model.

Perched behind the bar, I asked the bartender to pour me a drink "on the road." Suddenly a girl came up to me, whom I spotted for a long time: she came around twelve o'clock with her friend and was so cool she was annealed on the dance floor, which kept me distracted from tits graffiti.

The girl was already without a friend and asked to copy her intricate medallion, perched in a hollow between two juicy breasts, transferring his image to one of them. Quickly assessing the possible perspectives of tactile pleasure in the process of creative torment, I changed my mind about going home and went down with it - not without difficulty - down to a cozy room, where there were fewer people.

As it turned out, she was under amphetamine. I learned about this much later, but on this night I thought that she was fascinated by my person, and not by my strange outfit and glitter in her forehead, as it turned out in reality. The girl had fun at the birthday party of her friend, with whom she later dragged into the club - good, she lived nearby. At the party, she strongly touched champagne, and already in the club some guy suggested she throw in. Since this all started.

I didn’t suspect anything about it and swelling up with pride that I still don’t have to lean against a warm wall in a quiet place, and that I could be interested in me naturally. Her name was Marina. In fact, her name was different, but it sounded phonetically that way.

I drove a brush over her breasts, pre-unbuttoning her shirt as much as possible - of course, so as not to stain her clothes with paint. With my other hand, I checked the elasticity of her breasts, as if trying to determine how ready she was for motherhood in the future. Marina’s breasts were all right: then I had the opportunity to repeatedly verify this. Beautiful and elastic to the touch, however, with slightly increased areola nipples: I prefer the design more elegant.

The girl innocently gave me the opportunity to enjoy her elasticity and crackled without stopping. Sometimes her verbiage was so interesting and informative that I was distracted from the bench press in a sitting position and listened to her delirium. The party ended, and we moved to the private room. I let go of the employees who were going home and shook their heads reproachfully. And Marina and I all talked and talked. Sometimes I excitedly interrupting each other, but more often I just listened to her: she turned out to be a tremendously interesting conversationalist, although at first pure amphetamine talked to me.

As a result, we talked for almost nine hours in a row (!), Marina was late for a consultation on studies, and I, a morning person, was a morning person, exhausted by the nightjar. But I still managed to strip her to the waist and enjoy her lovely hemispheres. Marina first had a surprised-interested face, but then more and more often signs of sexual reflection began to appear: languidly rolling eyes and frequent moans in dreams of the unattainable.

The fact is that this night, as luck would have it, her grandmother arrived in a red Mercedes. This explains her frequent absences to the toilet during body art and after. Having spent the entire stockpile of personal protective equipment, the toilet paper from the club toilet and then paper towels were used. When Marina guiltily got to the cotton napkins from the table, I realized that it was time for us to leave. Everyone had to put himself in order: she had to take a shower, and I had a good jerk off.

Before parting, I managed to schedule her a second date, which she favorably accepted. However, Marina shamelessly late for him for three whole hours, almost overslept the fateful meeting. I sadly sipped white, sitting in an empty club, realizing that when she sobered up and came to her senses, my chances of desired coition came close to zero. However, Marina really overslept, and it was not surprising, considering that the day before she had been watching more than a day and a half.

When Marina was scared to call back, I was already offended, miserable and drunk. I told her that she could sleep further or even go to the hell - in general, I behaved like a real capricious woman, which is sometimes peculiar to me.

Marina caught me from the very first day of my acquaintance (as I thought), or immediately fell in love with me (as she claimed). But, be that as it may, the girl nevertheless came to me with great delay (despite the fact that I actually sent her), for which I was immensely grateful to her. After six days of insane meetings and breathtaking conversations, Marina moved to me, where we lived together for almost four years - almost until the very end of the Medical Academy, in which she studied as a cosmetologist.

From the first days of our sexual pleasures suddenly came across some resistance from her. During traditional intercourse, she chose a model of behavior that I often observed while rafting logs on a river: I had to constantly push it with a hook. But it was still flowers.

- In the ass you can not, because there poop! - Marina categorically stated to me when I first tried to enter her body from the back porch: apparently, according to proctology, she had a solid "five".

After the refusal of Marina from the blowjob, I began to guess for what reason it was impossible, from her point of view, to suck cock. It was a difficult case: I came across a dense stump that only recently crawled out from under the closet of sexual taboos into the light of day. Besides the girl's body ...

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