I am not “one of the boys”.

I have an hourglass figure to beat the band.

I can suck a golf ball through a hundred yards of garden hose. I can fuck a man so good he won’t remember his own name for two days afterwards. I’m hot, I’m sassy and I know what men want from me. I know what they want from me in spite of themselves, in spite of integrity, in spite of what they know is right. And I know that how I give it and how I hold it back IS power. I used to run from that responsibility…now I embrace it as a blessing, as an advantage. Michael Jordan had a 46” inch vertical leap, I have epic tits.

Men look at me and they dream kneading and biting those tits, about having their face buried in those tits, their dicks sliding up and down between them and exploding all over my neck and my chin. And I don’t just let them dream I encourage it. I facilitate their fantasies. I make them think they have a chance. I bring them in closer and closer and closer…depending on who they are, what they want and what game it is we’re playing I let them get farther or not as far or damn near nowhere at all.