Friend Fatty Wife

The fewthat did want to talk were only interested in my telephone number. Afterabout fifteen minutes I was about to leave when a private message popped upon my screen.'Interesting photo. Is it you?'I looked at the name - 'Hercules.' Hmmm...he was clearly going to bedisappointed by the truth so I decided to lie.'Yes Sir.''You're very pretty slut. Tell me about yourself.'That was all the excuse I needed. For the next 30 minutes I chatted withHercules. It was only later I realised I had told him all sorts of thingsabout me but had learned absolutely nothing about him. It didn't seem tomatter; I was overcome with relief at being able to talk to someone aboutmy inner desires with no fear of ever meeting them. The little white liesI told along the way didn't seem to matter; when Hercules asked me what Iwas wearing I told him a tight black leather mini, blouse, stockings andspike heels. He encouraged me along the way, asking what turned me on, howI saw myself... it was kind of like talking. Twelve hundred miles, seventeen hours, four stops for gas and food and we were there.We arrived in grand style, top down, hair blowing in our eyes and needing only a place to park the vehicle. Young people were everywhere, walking, skating, riding bikes, hanging over the balconies of motels. We pulled into the first motel with a vacant parking space. Immediately the car was surrounded by partying guys and girls. One guy approached me, saw that I had no beer in my hand and immediately turned, opened a cooler, and offered one each for Jeff and I."I hate to see a guy dry," he said. "Welcome to the party. Where 'ya staying?" We didn't make reservations. Have nothing firm in mind. Figured we'd find some girls with rooms." That's a good plan. Cheaper too. You're not tied to any broad and your not responsible if the room gets trashed. That happens sometimes, down here, so you have to be alert for that and disappear if the action goes in that direction. Just put some clothes on so you don't.
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