...to a dimly lit hipster bar. That's when we start putting our tongues to use, since they're required to form spoken words, which is necessary for the conversation we're going to have.
As we talk, your pussy starts to get wet, because you filled his water bowl too high since you were distracted while prepping for our date. But we don't know that yet because we're still at the bar. Honestly I'm not sure why I even mentioned it.
Meanwhile, I feel my cock pressing against my pants. (I dropped one of the chicken wings we ordered right into my lap. Sometimes I'm clumsy when I'm talking to cute girls.)
I'm loving our conversation, but try as I might, I can't avoid an occasional glance at your tits. They're small and perky, my favorite kind. Somehow we found the only bar in Houston that let you bring birds inside.
Then we go back to my house and fuck or whatever.
***
I'm never married, no kids, great career, own my house.
You're 21-mid 30s, smart, and pretty.
Start by telling me a bit about yourself.
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