Hall of Infinite Doors
Rosie's bounces up and down in her seat at the news that she gets to go to the ballet. Her boobs quiver so nicely. You have made certain to bring your black suit with its black tie, but Rosie has to go home and change.
You decide you will meet at the theater a half hour before the program begins.
Fifteen minutes before the show starts, Rosie shows up in a tiny black dress--two teeny straps over the shoulders, a chest that pops out like two massive warheads, and barely enough material to cover her behind when she sits down. She definitely does not disappoint.
You enter the theater and obtain a program. You can't believe this show is going to last three whole hours.
Your seats are great, if you even knew what was going on. You sit to Rosie's left. What is better is that you have a clear way to look down your date's dress, which you do whenever she is into the show and you're bored by it--basically all the time. You notice the exceedingly well dressed gentleman to her right is eyeing her too. Oh well, plenty to go around.
About a half hour into the show Rosie grabs your hand at some exciting spot. You place your hands on her exposed knee, and keep it there when she lets go. Thereafter you work your hand up and down her thighs. She pays you no heed.
Intermission comes. Finally. Rosie stands up and squeezes by you to go to the restroom. You make sure to cop a feel as she goes by.
Just then the stranger that was sitting to Rosie's right extends a hand. "John Gifford." He smiles broadly and speaks in a deep voice.
"Folks call me Charlie," you reply.
"Tell me Charlie, what do you do--for a living?"
"I work for Marvel--the magazine."
"Ah! Craig's company."
He refers to Craig as if he knows him personally.
"Charile," John continues, "do you realize I know Craig personally?"
Apparently he does.
"I notice you got a fine date," continues John, beginning to sound like a used car salesman, "let me convince her to take her home with me tonight, and I'll put in a good word for you with Craig. I'm serious. What do you say?"
You decide you will meet at the theater a half hour before the program begins.
Fifteen minutes before the show starts, Rosie shows up in a tiny black dress--two teeny straps over the shoulders, a chest that pops out like two massive warheads, and barely enough material to cover her behind when she sits down. She definitely does not disappoint.
You enter the theater and obtain a program. You can't believe this show is going to last three whole hours.
Your seats are great, if you even knew what was going on. You sit to Rosie's left. What is better is that you have a clear way to look down your date's dress, which you do whenever she is into the show and you're bored by it--basically all the time. You notice the exceedingly well dressed gentleman to her right is eyeing her too. Oh well, plenty to go around.
About a half hour into the show Rosie grabs your hand at some exciting spot. You place your hands on her exposed knee, and keep it there when she lets go. Thereafter you work your hand up and down her thighs. She pays you no heed.
Intermission comes. Finally. Rosie stands up and squeezes by you to go to the restroom. You make sure to cop a feel as she goes by.
Just then the stranger that was sitting to Rosie's right extends a hand. "John Gifford." He smiles broadly and speaks in a deep voice.
"Folks call me Charlie," you reply.
"Tell me Charlie, what do you do--for a living?"
"I work for Marvel--the magazine."
"Ah! Craig's company."
He refers to Craig as if he knows him personally.
"Charile," John continues, "do you realize I know Craig personally?"
Apparently he does.
"I notice you got a fine date," continues John, beginning to sound like a used car salesman, "let me convince her to take her home with me tonight, and I'll put in a good word for you with Craig. I'm serious. What do you say?"