Okay, here is the short version:

Big tits X2, Wet, wild, toys, funny role play, positions galore, came real good, recommend.

The longer version may take awhile, so I thought I would give you time to decide whether you really need to invest your time in this.

Okay, still there? Grab a beer, get the Kleenex box and let's go:

Almost a year ago to the day, I had my first duo. Lately, there seems to be duo fever going around Perb. Everyone seems to be posting about one they had or asking about one they might want. Maybe it isn't everyone, rather it's my new annual urge telling me to only read the threads on duos and splurge to get the monkey off my back.

I learned that Isabelle and my new ATF, DeaAphrodite, were offering duos. I splurged. Monkey gone.

I phoned up Dea last week and asked her about Isabelle. I hadn't seen the I-Woman but I became very intrigued because of the apparent similarities between her and Dea … Dark hair, white skin, huge toobers, same height, legs and asses to die for, universally great reviews, close by each other in the West End. Dea confirmed … "could be sisters, hot as me, yeah, we get into each other for real". I make a tentative booking and worry about where I'll get the cash splurge later.

Hmmmm, now I need something extra, something to take full advantage of this splurge, something kinda wicked from the fetid swamp of the Luther Brain. Hmmmm? What to do? What to do?

The last time I saw Dea, she had an old guitar that wouldn't stay in tune kicking around her in-call. Hmmmm? I noodled on the old thing a bit while waiting for my usual grape juice and butt from heaven to return from the kitchen.

In the beginning, the earth was without form and the slimy creatures did slither in the sea. So it was with my plan, formless and slithery.

See, I have always wanted to be a singer. Yes, I would give my eye teeth (even my nose teeth) to be a real blues man … Brad Pitt not included, I'd give up any kind of job, lotto winnings, etc., to be up there in front of a steaming R & B band, bringing down the house with a shifty, swifty blues tune. Part of the fascination, of course, would be the adoration of foxy women who dig bluesy funky rock and like to swivel their hips in and out of bed.

Ahhh! That's it then, I said to myself. "Self," says I, "Pretend to be an R & B star and have DeaAphrodite and Isabelle as my groupies!"

And then, the plan had form and meaning and the creatures of the sea did crawl upon the earth.

In my callow youth, I learned the rudiments of the guitar. I corn-balled out things like "Louie, Louie" well enough to play at big beer and punch-up parties and briefly had a group of guys who could play 10 songs (actually the chords were the same for all but 2). Lately, for some reason, I have been choinking away on my Fender again. After a couple of weeks of being an OFender, I got whatever lamb chops I ever had back and I even started to write the occasional oomphy thing. Adding the current amount of scotch, smoke and dissolute living to my voice, I kinda sound a little bit like a higher pitched Long John Baldry who loses the beat every once in awhile. This is painful for my friends but I have no hesitation inflicting them with it because every so often they foolishly say, … "Hey, play that catchy new thing for us." They usually start talking amongst themselves mid-way through any second number, so I know I have limited appeal.

Nonetheless, having this minimal strumming ability allows a cock-a-mamie plan to take shape but getting two popular gals schedules to align is like blind skeet shooting … 4:00 Tuesday?... Blam, miss…. 2:00 Wednesday? Blam, miss. I let them tell me when to come. Much easier. As the day draws near, I have fully hatched the ultimate combo fantasy … Me as a grooving singer, them as backstage hip grinders who fuck their and my lights out. Why not?

And then the plan had meaning and the creatures of the forest came forth.