Ms. Josie. I’ve always thought she’s one of the prettiest things you’ll ever see (both from her pictures, and even more so in person). I’ve also always been under the impression that she didn’t much like rabbits, so I’ve given her all the space I could (which was more difficult than one would imagine… I did say “realllly pretty”, right?). Still, I’d been craving distraction since the Big Hurt, and figured “what the h-e-double hockey sticks… could seeing someone who openly loathes you really be any worse?”
So I find myself in the swing room at Legends. In the dark. Not dimly lit or mood lit – dark. I managed to fumble through the shower, but can’t find a towel. Or any place to put my things. So I just stood there in the middle of the room - wet, lost, and waiting.
Ms. Josie enters, and to my delight, resolves the lighting issues. It’s bright enough to see her now, and fellas… Gawd DAMN. GAWD Damn. GAWWWWWWWD DAMN. For you poor b#stards who have never had the pleasure, she is a tiny thing – but spectacularly curvy. She had her long, dark hair up at the moment, and was sporting this black corsety thing that served as a lovely decorative delivery vessel for the aforementioned “spectacularly curvy” goodness. And she has all sorts of shiny things. I like shiny things.
So I make a bee-line towards her, reacting instinctively to relieve her of said delivery vessel. But before I reach the prize, I come to a bit of a skidding halt, sink low, and peer at her out of squinty eyes, fully expecting to receive the “Stink Eye”, or any other number of gestures of disdain and disapproval (habits are hard to shed, but I'm trying). But it never came. Instead, there was a lovely (albeit slightly cautious) smile. And so I “brave up” and get closer.
Taking control of the situation, Ms. Josie pushes me towards the octobed… and I paw at her bosom. And she takes the corsety thing off, while I paw at her bosom. And she makes pleasant small talk with me… while I paw at her bosom. In fact, we engage in a number of pastimes, all with significant bosom-pawing components, until we fall into a little bit of a tug-o-war over her right wonderbump. She wants to take it to be mutilated. I want to keep it safe and secure in the comfort of my cupped paws. Or mouth. Either way – safe, secure and unmutilated. It becomes something of an impasse.
Ms. Josie decides to end our little dispute by removing the remainder of her garments, and… and… at the risk of sounding redundant: Gawd DAMN. GAWD Damn. GAWWWWWWWD DAMN.
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
She’s bendy… and playful… and realllllly pretty… and adventurous… and soft… and instructive… and –oh, and dig this – all the while she’s doing what she’s doing, she makes sure it is all perfectly choreographed for optimised viewing in the mirrors. And she’s sexy… and reallllly pretty… and nice to me… and yummy… and…
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
I wish I were considerably more flexible. Ok, I wish I were at all flexible. Partly so that I could better participate in some of Ms. Josie’s more creative ideas. But mostly so that I could kick myself hard in the tail for not seeing her sooner. This one is wonderful company.
Happy thumping, all!
So I find myself in the swing room at Legends. In the dark. Not dimly lit or mood lit – dark. I managed to fumble through the shower, but can’t find a towel. Or any place to put my things. So I just stood there in the middle of the room - wet, lost, and waiting.
Ms. Josie enters, and to my delight, resolves the lighting issues. It’s bright enough to see her now, and fellas… Gawd DAMN. GAWD Damn. GAWWWWWWWD DAMN. For you poor b#stards who have never had the pleasure, she is a tiny thing – but spectacularly curvy. She had her long, dark hair up at the moment, and was sporting this black corsety thing that served as a lovely decorative delivery vessel for the aforementioned “spectacularly curvy” goodness. And she has all sorts of shiny things. I like shiny things.
So I make a bee-line towards her, reacting instinctively to relieve her of said delivery vessel. But before I reach the prize, I come to a bit of a skidding halt, sink low, and peer at her out of squinty eyes, fully expecting to receive the “Stink Eye”, or any other number of gestures of disdain and disapproval (habits are hard to shed, but I'm trying). But it never came. Instead, there was a lovely (albeit slightly cautious) smile. And so I “brave up” and get closer.
Taking control of the situation, Ms. Josie pushes me towards the octobed… and I paw at her bosom. And she takes the corsety thing off, while I paw at her bosom. And she makes pleasant small talk with me… while I paw at her bosom. In fact, we engage in a number of pastimes, all with significant bosom-pawing components, until we fall into a little bit of a tug-o-war over her right wonderbump. She wants to take it to be mutilated. I want to keep it safe and secure in the comfort of my cupped paws. Or mouth. Either way – safe, secure and unmutilated. It becomes something of an impasse.
Ms. Josie decides to end our little dispute by removing the remainder of her garments, and… and… at the risk of sounding redundant: Gawd DAMN. GAWD Damn. GAWWWWWWWD DAMN.
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
She’s bendy… and playful… and realllllly pretty… and adventurous… and soft… and instructive… and –oh, and dig this – all the while she’s doing what she’s doing, she makes sure it is all perfectly choreographed for optimised viewing in the mirrors. And she’s sexy… and reallllly pretty… and nice to me… and yummy… and…
*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump*
I wish I were considerably more flexible. Ok, I wish I were at all flexible. Partly so that I could better participate in some of Ms. Josie’s more creative ideas. But mostly so that I could kick myself hard in the tail for not seeing her sooner. This one is wonderful company.
Happy thumping, all!
