My week in Las Vegas begins and the exact man who will be my bottom cum slut for the week still isn’t settled, although a few candidates certainly emerged in the search. My favorite has chatted with me but I doubt he comes through and will be the subject of another blog entry, “The Lies Men Tell.”
You see, he sent me photos a few months back. I played dumb and asked for some recently. He sent another set. The two do not match. Face, features, etc., are completely different. They’re not even close.
So among the rest, let’s hope someone comes through.
I’m disappointed no one’s been creative enough to think of ways to impress me, to get on top of the pile, so to speak. For example, when my plane arrives around 9:15 tonight, to be waiting with a sign welcoming me and driving me to my hotel. Someone to carry my bags.
Maybe a couple of people. Certainly, in this town of excess, an limo isn’t out of the question. How about a limo filled with naked, hot boys ready for a fuck on the way to my hotel?
Okay, my imagination is getting away from me. But a charming, hot guy who takes me on a night drive isn’t out of the question.
Where’s he at?
So who will be my cum slut companion for the week? We wait and hope for a sign. Primarily a sign at the airport.
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