Okay, so I’m doing this because of a forum thread where some people said they want to see more true stories here on Lush. So alright. Since the true story of my entire life is just like a porn movie, I thought it was high time to CUM forward, so to speak and let all you horny bastards and trollops in on some of the true events of my enviably amazing life. I certainly don’t mean to make anyone envious of my fabulous existence, however, if that happens as an unavoidable residual effect, so be it.
It’s really hard – no, not that! you fucking pervs! – to truly describe to the little people how the one hundred percent true events my amazing life are mere dreams for the huddled masses.
Just to give you minions of masturbation a random example, I’ll tell you what happened a few weeks ago on one of the hottest days of the whole summer. A busload of cheerleaders from the local community college happened to get a flat tire in front of my lavish home.
I was out front watering the flowers in my brand new, lemon yellow Speedo. When the bus pulled to a stop, the girls all disembarked in their tiny little flippy skirts and sports bras. They were all blonde…of course…with huge knockers and ripe asses that stuck out from the bottoms of their little skirts.
As the happy, pneumatically curvaceous girls bounded across my lawn, I happened to notice none of them were wearing panties as their skirt hems flipped and flopped. Then I remembered how their campus was on the poor side of town, and that the unfortunate things probably couldn’t afford proper undergarments. Being the deeply compassionate human being I am, my heart swelled with kindness. I knew I was just going to have to help these half naked darlings in whatever way I could.
I assumed the one leading the bountiful boob bouncing charge across my lawn was the head cheerleader. Her name was Mindeee (yes, that’s with three e’s), and she of course had the biggest bazoombas of the bunch. Presumably, she was going to ask to use my phone to call for a tow truck, but when she spotted the massive mountain of manmeat straining my Speedo, the poor thing stopped in her tracks and gasped.
“Omigod omigod!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you Franklin Roosevelt Lee!?”
“Why yes, girls,” I replied with a conciliatory chuckle.
Taking pity on the poor creatures, I immediately invited them to enjoy some refreshing, ice-cold lemonade – which they drank so thirstily they spilled most of it down upon their sports bras, wetting the skintight fabric unto the point their pertilicious nipplings formed succulent pokies – and to enjoy an invigorating skinny dip in my spacious swimming pool.