leave such fiction to our friend 'Nilla. But then she might have the poor little fellas' imprisoned and impaled by a horny space alien with an alarming resemblance to a giant squid. Of course, maybe the Leprechaun turns the tables:
Sadly, St. Patrick's Day got off to a slow start for this Ol' Irish Slave. Mistress had one of those ridiculous 8 am meetings to start her week, leaving wake-up sex on hold. Well, at least for me. But since it remains unseasonably chilly here in River City, she did slither into her peek-a-boo tights and make herself available for what she referred to as some quick but effective "drive by worship" before heading out the door in the pre-dawn hour. Hopefully my quick but potent "lick of the Irish" gave Mistress a little something to think about as she sat around the conference room table with all those boring guys this morning.
As for me: I have elected to forego the annual stag dinner for the friendly sons this year. No tuxedo. No open bar and "Buffet Erin". No tedious speeches and boring old guys to make small talk with while eating over cooked beef. No Men's choir singing "Danny Boy". Instead I am hoping the "luck of the Irish" means I get lucky tonight.
If not, I might end up as testy as this guy:
