Am I the only woman pining away for a lover clad in gossamer thigh-highs and projecting the lithesome charm of Doris Day. I want my Janet for a perfect lipstick lesbian girlfriend. I want her to wear suspender hose to bed. I want her to wear an off-white miner's shirt that we've seen at Sax Fifth Avenue, and forgot to pick it up.
Pink. That's what she should wear. I really want to write poetry about our night come true.
On a romantically-technical(sic) note, I have added another water heater to my co-op, thus doubling the hot water capacity to 100 gallons. Plenty for the Jacuzzi, and then some.
I am definitely more artsy than this. I swear to you, to my straight college MILF professor, and to my Janet - this is me, either top or bottom. By John Chilton. (Whom you could see at Coffee, Cake and Kink in London)
I love it all. The reality of women sleeping, women bathing, women petting, caressing each other's thighs. The shameless display of the nude female curves is fantasy of sex and the big city. And my reality. Janet reads my blog.