Do we revisit Lucy? Or does Lucy revisit us?
I hadn't seen Lucy in more than a year. When I paid her a return visit last week, I was fairly astonished and delighted at the transformation: A dramatic weight loss--although I'd liked her as she was--has managed to shape a trimmer, more fit Lucy without any loss in the curves department. The waif--and the new red do' doesn't hurt, either, very becoming--is a treat to look at.
Happily, her warm, empathetic and perpetually bemused remains, as does her enthusiastic sensuality. The uninhibited nudity, the provocative touching, that oh-so-explicit body sliding and the hands-on accompanied shower all remain as they were. Lucy may be 40, but she's at the top of her game.
From my perspective, what a beguiling, passive pleasure: Lay there and be done to. Love it. And unlike some other practicioners and Lucy imitators here in Victoria, she's no clock-watcher.
After close to an hour and a half of pleasuring and an explosive finish--at least for this geezer--I stepped out into the sunlight with my flagging masculinity much renewed and a keener sense of being alive.
If I wait another year before going back, I'm worse than an idiot: I'm an idiot studying to be an imbecile.
I hadn't seen Lucy in more than a year. When I paid her a return visit last week, I was fairly astonished and delighted at the transformation: A dramatic weight loss--although I'd liked her as she was--has managed to shape a trimmer, more fit Lucy without any loss in the curves department. The waif--and the new red do' doesn't hurt, either, very becoming--is a treat to look at.
Happily, her warm, empathetic and perpetually bemused remains, as does her enthusiastic sensuality. The uninhibited nudity, the provocative touching, that oh-so-explicit body sliding and the hands-on accompanied shower all remain as they were. Lucy may be 40, but she's at the top of her game.
From my perspective, what a beguiling, passive pleasure: Lay there and be done to. Love it. And unlike some other practicioners and Lucy imitators here in Victoria, she's no clock-watcher.
After close to an hour and a half of pleasuring and an explosive finish--at least for this geezer--I stepped out into the sunlight with my flagging masculinity much renewed and a keener sense of being alive.
If I wait another year before going back, I'm worse than an idiot: I'm an idiot studying to be an imbecile.
