French Custom
I met a beautiful girl named Michelle in the summer of 2008. It was a magical time for me. Obama was still president and Craigslist was still a thing. And yes, I partook in its online endeavors.
I got curious about this ad she put up for a no-strings-attached type of date in the w4w column. I was young, bored, and horny. What more can I say? As soon as I heard that sexy French accent on the phone, I was immediately smitten.
She said she wanted me to pick her up that evening, so I borrowed my dad’s truck to escort her over to my place for dinner. Instead of putting dinner on plates like normal people, we ate it off each other.
I initially had a much cleaner idea in mind. I turned my dining room table into a lovely cot; sheets and towels over some comfy pillows. I neatly arranged little gourmet delicacies on her stomach and made a meal of her.
Michelle’s gorgeous body looked amazing decorated with tiny parfaits. I even cascaded thinly sliced strawberries up her thighs and gently ate them off. When it was my turn, she turned me into a three course meal, using meat, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
I didn’t think it was going to turn out as sensual as it did. It took me a while to comfortably be touched in…
