Living in a tiny, English, rural village is, in itself, a dream. The bird-song, the church bells, the local, even the local yokels are all glorious in their own way and I wouldn’t be without them, or live anywhere else.
However (and there had to be one, right?) for all this community has in being a rural idyll, it lacks something. It lacks frisson. A little more raucousness is needed, once in a while.
While feeling that feeling, I decide to make a break and go see a local band at a venue outside of the village. I’d heard good reports and seen photos from their gigs and figured I could very possibly get me some cock without too much trouble. After all, I know the male:female ratio that you tend to get at such gigs.
Get laid? Me? No problem. Hell, I bet I could even get my legs around at least one of the band, if not all of them!
So I pay the king’s ransom for a taxi to take me ten miles and arrive at the testosterone-heavy venue and make my entrance.
But look! There is another woman! How very rare. After quelling my annoyance at this unexpected feminine presence, I decide that it might be a nice thing to do to go over and say “hi”.
As I approach I see that the casually-clad girl is good looking. Stunning, even. She is in a tight pair of jeans that hug her rounded (but not by any means big) butt and long shapely legs. Her top is none the looser either, showing her hour-glass figure off to a T.
There are breasts under there… there is cleavage already in evidence.
Introducing myself, she retorts with her name. I try to copy what she says… Yo-anna Bottie-zattoo. She laughs and links her arm around mine and we walk towards the as-yet-empty stage, through the path that is cleared by the men & boys as they show fear in the vicinity of actual women.
Standing waiting for the band, I attempt to surreptitiously sneak a peek down the zipper-top that is caressing her big boobs and see her bra, pushing her tits together, those beautiful breasts bulging from beneath it.
What with the business Reese and I run, I cannot help but guess at her cup size. It’s what we do when we’re out together. Truly.
I surmise her to be a G-cup. But, to be certain, I’d need to see those puppies unleashed.
Forgetting the gig as if it never existed, after all, I have something far prettier to look at (sorry boys), I try my luck.
Showing off (that always works, right? I seem to have forgotten that it never works on me), I decide to tell her that I used to be a glamour model. I was yet another MILF with her tits out, on the internet.
“And you? What do you do, Yo-anna?
“Let’s get out of here” she says, and I need no coersion.
She is making my quim quivver and I feel my cunt getting moist and hot. This woman is sultry, sexy and sensual. This woman is turning me on.
Back at her place, she tells me that she is from Bucharest and I remember that a lot of big-boobed beauties seem to originate from Romania.
As soon as I share my thought with her, I regret it. I have made myself sound like a right lesbian perve.
Ioana finally tells me what she does, and even who she is: Sensual Jane (AKA Jane, Janelle, Ionela Ioana), the adult model and porn star with amazing 32G tits!
And she does:
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I really wanted to see that band, too.
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