As I will often do after my first meal of the day, I went for a little stroll through some of the residential backstreets behind The Station where I had breakfast this morning. Now more times than not, it’s just very peaceful and quiet at this hour, but every once in a while, I’ll happen upon a girl walking out to start her day…..or in the case of scandalous types……just heading home to finish it. I’m generally more interested in the latter.
A girl heading home at this time of day can only mean a few things in this here town. It typically suggests she worked/barhopped late at one of the many clubs, and is either heading home from a red-eye shift that just ended or just left the hotel of her barfine from last night after having her brains thoroughly fucked out of her.
When I saw this girl in a purple dress strolling towards me, the closer and closer she got the more and more she appeared to have just crawled out of a hotel bed somewhere. Despite looking a bit tired, she still seemed cute enough to me and I figured I’d try my luck at snaring an early short-time companion for my first nut of the day. Pretending to be lost, I went over and talked to her, asking if we could walk together.
Her name was Lynn and as she hurriedly answered my questions, it became more evident that she quite probably still had cum from last night’s (or this morning’s?) customer still dripping down her body somewhere; her weary, baggy under-eyes, her flat, slightly-damp hair and an overall disposition of indifference clued me in. No matter, as you all should know by now, I am not one to let such trivial details prevent me from enjoying a strange new Filipina pussy; at any hour of the day, freshly fucked or otherwise.
So we hopped in a nearby trike and sped back to my hotel where Lynn then gave me the obligatory “never-been-with-a-foreigner-before” routine, reciting it robotically word-for-word as if straight from the Bargirl Operating Manual. I have to give her credit for trying at least, because by this hour, she was probably in full zombie mode running on empty. Everyone knows bargirls are fueled by ladies drinks, and Lynn’s last one was many hours ago by now.
I sort of wondered why she even decided to go with me, but then I remembered how they are wired. A bargirl’s brain is programmed to stop at nothing for that extra peso. If it means hopping in a trike with a camera-wielding foreigner at 10am before the semen from last nights pervert has even dried on your panties yet, so be it. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging anyone. Obviously it takes a “special” type of man to accept this reality of life here and embrace it; and by embrace it, I mean pulling last night’s leftovers off the street for a quick morning round of sloppy seconds.
Lynn could plainly see what type of man I was, and was a true sport in the matter. Setting aside the early hour and her own fatigue, she dutifully served up an enthusiastic blow job in which her forcefulness produced tears from the corners of her eyes. I would have been remiss if I didn’t drink from her hairy goblet before stuffing it—-it’s a force of habit I guess. Here’s to hoping she wiped any remnants of Mr. Last Night’s DNA from her mud flaps as best as possible.
When I finally did prick her monkey-chin with my hairy mutton dagger, I was reminded of something that made it all worth it. Well, two things actually. First, the answer to the question: “What is the best kind of pussy?” which is “New Pussy” or pussy you never had before. Secondly, that pussy knows no age (below 45, that is), no time of day and no level of fatigue. When your cock is inside a pussy, it feels like….well, a pussy. And that’s just a good place to be no matter what.
When the time for my nut was approaching, I decided to leave it in for another cream-pie for you guys as that seems to be a popular ending. See, even at my most glorious of moments, I have you guys in mind. The only problem with this course of events for Lynn is that if she plops out a six-pound shit machine in 9 months, she’ll have a hard time figuring out it’s country of origin much less who the lucky Dad is. Factor in the daily dosage of Pinoy trike-driver-boyfriend DNA and you’ve literally got yourself a “who’s who” in anthropological studies.
Next time you’re in town and spot a girl walking somewhere in the early morning hours I hope you’ll think of Lynn and appreciate all the girls like her whose work is truly never done! Happy Holidays and see you all next week!