One Man’s Wife Is Another Man’s Plaything
I finally went into the office (for the first time this week) and grinded out the day, which surprisingly went by pretty fast. After work, I hit up the gym to get a little workout in before I went home. Without an I-pod (that I accidentally left at home), I zoned out to a couple of stupid talk shows which I wouldn’t be caught dead admitting to watching; an hour and a half passed in a flash.
I usually wait to get home to take a shower, but the gym gave me a more than usual therapeutic feeling, so I stayed there longer than usual and utilized the steam/dry room as well as the showers. I came out refreshed and ready to hit up a bar for some happy hour. There’s a great four star seafood spot close to where I live that had karaoke tonight and it seemed like the perfect place to go to unwind.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I had a rejuvenated “single” sense—I could totally pick up the gestures and body language of bitches who wanted some no-strings-attached lovin. That broad from Vegas did wonders to heighten this sixth sense of mine. I always had it, but now I could really filter out the women who fit my profile.
After some senseless conversation, I went TrashyToons.com on a willing whore who was in a rocky marriage and needed to feel like a brand new woman. Being the charitable man I was, I gave her everything her soon-to-be ex-husband hadn’t in a long time—I made her feel sexy. We night capped at the Marriot Hotel, because I’d be damned if I took her back to my place. If she was your wife, she wasn’t tonight…
Original post by webmaster