“If you love me, here, suck my cock,” she said, and she lifted her skirt to show off a normal-sized penis.
Who is this person? I thought. She hardly bears a resemblance to the T-girl I knew.
“Here, blow me,” she said, rubbing her cock to produce an erection.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” I said, as I sat beside her.
“I don’t feel like being fucked today.” she said kneeling on a cushion as she unzipped my fly, “I’ll blow you instead.”
“That will take a while,” I said, not being anymore in the mood, but she started enthusiastically, and after a while, she reached that trigger point, and I filled her mouth with cum that she quaffed like a shot of Jell-O.
“Look, I gotta go,” I told her as she wiped my dick with a damp washcloth.
I gave her some money and left, somewhat disappointed with her mutation.
I didn’t return to see her after that, and Callista had stopped calling me. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend, who was very fem and not unpredictable. Some months later, I got an email from Callista that read,
“Hi, my family sent me back to the Philippines, and I wanna’ come back to America. Please send me $300, and I’ll pay you back. You said you loved me.”
I didn’t want to continue with Callista. The drugs and craziness had burned me out, and the physical attraction was gone. I still had feelings for her, but I was done. I sensed she meant trouble. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant,
“I am afraid that if I send you money, you will never get it or use it for drugs.”
I’d had bad experiences sending money to T-girls.
“Tell your sister to contact me, I will give her the money, and I don’t know how to send it to you safely. I’m sure she can do that. How many guys would you have to blow in the Philippines to earn $300?”
Knowing her sense of humor, I thought that would make her laugh. I waited to hear back from her. I even got the $300 rolled up in my drawer with a red rubber band. But I never heard from her again, or from her sister, but I’ve remembered her name just now.
I wonder if my poor attempt at humor might have upset her, or more likely that something unexpected might have happened to her? I really don’t want to guess. Occasionally, years ago out of curiosity, I looked for her easily identifiable Craig’s ads and I’ve never seen them. I’m afraid I never will, but I can live with that.
I hardly recognized her behavior. She had become quite dominant. She pranced around the basement in a short skirt, almost hitting her head on a low-hanging pipe. As she bent over, I could see she had no panties on.
“If you love me, here, suck my cock,” she said, and she lifted her skirt to show off a normal-sized penis.
Who is this person, I thought. She hardly bears a resemblance to the T-girl I knew.
“Here, blow me.”
She was rubbing her cock, trying to produce an erection.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” I said and I sat beside her.
“I don’t feel like being fucked today,” she said as she knelt on a cushion and unzipped my fly, “I’ll blow you instead.”
“That will take a while,” I said, but she started enthusiastically, and after a while, she reached that trigger point, and I filled her mouth with cum that she quaffed like a shot of Jell-O.
“Look, I gotta go,” I told her as she wiped my dick with a damp washcloth.
I gave her some money and left, somewhat disappointed with her mutation.
I didn’t return to see her after that, and Callista had stopped calling me. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend, who was very fem and not unpredictable. Some months later, I got an email from Callista that read,
“Hi, my family sent me back to the Philippines, and I wanna’ come back to America. Please send me $300, and I’ll pay you back. You said you loved me.”
I didn’t want to continue with Callista. The drugs and craziness had burned me out, and the physical attraction was gone. I still had feelings for her, but I was done. I sensed she meant trouble. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant when I replied,
“I am afraid that if I send you money, you will never get it or use it for drugs.”
I’d had bad experiences sending money to T-girls.
“Tell your sister to contact me, I will give her the money, and I don’t know how to send it to you safely. I’m sure she can do that. How many guys would you have to blow in the Philippines to earn $300?”
Knowing her sense of humor, I thought that would make her laugh. I waited to hear back from her. I even got the $300 rolled up in my drawer with a red rubber band. But I never heard from her again, or from her sister, but I’ve remembered her real name just now.
I wonder if my poor attempt at humor might have upset her, or more likely that something unexpected might have happened to her? I really don’t want to guess. Occasionally, years after she disappeared, out of curiosity, I looked for her easily identifiable Craig’s ads and I’ve never seen any. I’m afraid I never will, but I can live with that.