A letter to a stranger…
I’ve thought about this for 4 weeks. And I still haven’t come up with anything. All the people I encounter are not strangers to me. I travel in a small circle. You know I’d easily bitch about about someone that ticked me off… but no. Nothing.
Let’s define stranger... a person with whom one has had no personal acquaintance: a perfect stranger.
The act of sitting on one's hand for 20 minutes to make it go numb, and proceeding to jerk off with that hand. This will give the feeling of a hand... Aaaahh… the Urban Dictionary. Huh?
Let’s go with Perfect Stranger.
To The Green Eyed Stranger,
Don’t Move! Let me look at you.
Let me take in those broad shoulders and long tanned arms. Oh to be wrapped in them… mmm…
I want to run my finger’s thru that sandy blonde hair and gently pull that grass from it.
What a great ass?!
And you are wearin’ those Levi’s so tight to it.
Tell me, in whispers in my ear so I can feel your breath on it, why men stopped wearin’ their jeans so snug, when it shows off their best features.
Oh Yes, and Those Button Flys pop open so easily.
And you smell like fresh mowed hay and diesel… mmmm...
Oh, I wanna do bad things.
You’ll have to follow the link to understand who Charlotte is… so worth it.
“And Thank You So Very Much Your Purchase, MrFarmer. And Please, Do Come Again!”
There are days I miss working, becuz farmers smell so good!
Now excuse me, I’ll be spendin’ some time alone in my room.