Magic Vino
There was a stuffy Friday evening outside. I have just returned from a hard working week from the city back to my small village. And therefore he could legally allow himself to sip a beer on the throat, sitting right behind the wheel of his nine-naked kind. I stood on our only square in the village, near one of the two food stalls. The area, of course, is said strongly, just an asphalt platform for turning buses. There was also a terminus. It was evening, there was nothing. So from idleness, I looked at infrequent passersby. It was the beginning of the 2000s, 3 months ago I came from the army, so you know who I mostly looked out for. Girls, chicks, women, mares, and so on. At that time, we did not have the Internet, so we had to cling in the old way, with personal contact. But this was the problem. It seems like not to say about being offended: height 192, not skinny, broad-shouldered, pumped up (thanks to the army and special forces separately), dark-haired, gray-eyed, it’s not a quasimo-like face, but I’m not special in this. But here to communicate with the girls, well, in any! I start to moo, blush, blunt, the paragraph is shorter! No, I was no longer a virgin; before the army I was drunk a couple of times. One of them, a woman under 30, with a trailer, even promised to wait. But na such gave up to me? Give me a younger one, not with hanging tits.
23370
70% 10 votes
Read the story