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#11
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
I've chatted with Stacy via pm in this group many times, who knew that all I had to do was insult her and claim she was an overweight loser with a limp penis to provoke her into beating me up. I'll definitely need to file that away for the future...
Great stuff, H. Thank you very much, mate. |
#12
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
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#13
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
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Me too...can’t be any tougher than Savannah though. |
#14
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
CHAPTER 03: The Sunday Funnies If ever you asked me, I would always tell you that Sundays are my favourite day of the week. While I know that Saturdays are a big hit for a lot of folks, Sundays have always held a special magic for me. To me, Saturdays always wound up as a day running round and doing errands, but Sundays always started with a BIG breakfast, lots of black coffee and either a newspaper or a read through what was going on in the world via the internet. It had been a couple of days since I had issued the challenge to Stacyann. To be honest, there was a part of me that hoped against hope that she was who she said she was, because if nothing else, it would make the week in Dallas a whole lot more entertaining if it happened to involve going for a roll with a skilled fighter like she claimed to be. To that end, I felt that it was time again to open the floodgates to communication. I felt that the tone previous may have been too testy, so I decided on a much more conciliatory tone to keep the conversation alive. Quote:
It didn’t seem like the sentiment was universally accepted. Quote:
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The reply came in quick succession. I sensed that we were struggling to TRULY communicate. Quote:
I thought that was the whole point. Maybe I needed to reiterate my original offer. Quote:
I felt like this should be the part where we found our way to a better tomorrow. Maybe there was still more work to do. Quote:
I thought that went well and it seemed like Stacyann was finally coming around. It was time for the olive branch. Quote:
The reply was instant. Quote:
She was really persistent. Quote:
Finally… Quote:
So we WERE all set… To be continued… Last edited by HermanDG; 13-Nov-17 at 00:41. |
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#15
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
Heal the world and peace to all mankind, except Herman. HDG is getting BROKEN.
You lucky bastard. |
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
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#17
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
Ok big boy. Let’s see you write about that. And you had better get it right.
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#18
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
I'll try my very best...
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#19
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
CHAPTER 04: Dinner in Dallas There are a few places in the world that just reek of money. I can say without a doubt that Dallas, Texas is one of those places. Driving through downtown — as always — I was impressed with how manicured the city was — everything gleamed and just looked bigger, better and more impressive — a world class city, deep in the heart of Texas. I had come a long way and was excited to get the week started, but first, I needed to stop and check in at the Ritz Carlton. Usually when in the Dallas area, I tend to book a hotel in Fort Worth, just because it’s a slightly smaller centre that is a little less hectic and has a lovely downtown that is made for walking around. When there, I usually stop by the Kennedy memorial on Main Street. I’m not sure why I always did that, it had just become a bit of a habit over the years. With all the recent focus on JFK once again — I had just watched a Fifth Estate on CBC about the "riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma" of JFK's assassination not more than a week or so ago — I had to admit, I felt particularly drawn to the memorial this time around. As I drove, I wondered if I should block out a little time while in Texas to keep up with tradition. I supposed that if it wasn’t possible, certainly ol’ JFK would forgive me, but I promised myself that if time allowed that I would make every effort to get over for another visit. While most luxury hotels are impressive right from the get go, the Dallas Ritz Carlton is generally just another level. Because I knew that Stacyann and I would need a little extra space to accommodate the “Brawl to End it All”, I decided on booking one of the Ritz Privacy Wings that offered a large living room along with a number of bedrooms. It was a bit of an outlay, but my thinking was that I wanted this to be an event to remember and maybe even the opulence of the Ritz might offer a bit of a home field advantage or at least get Stacyann working off her heels a little bit. The other benefit was that the privacy wings were SO BIG that it would be possible to make a little more noise and not have to worry about hotel staff being at our door every five minutes due to neighbour complaints. Even though I still had very little confidence that “Stacyann” was even going to show, I wanted to make sure that I dotted all my I’s and crossed all my T’s just in case my little battle with some T&A materialized. The suite was everything that you would expect it to be. With a panoramic view of the entire downtown of Dallas you felt like you were king of the world. In the living room area, the large windows meant that our battle would be well lit and finally — added bonus — the unit that I’d been given for this go around had a large ceiling to floor mirror against the one wall, something that I was sure might be useful in helping to exploit what I had read-in as being Stacyann’s queen-sized ego. I took time to move the living room furniture off the carpeted area so that I could spend some time getting accustomed to my “ring” when at the hotel. If everything went as planned, the stadium was going to be epic. Checking the time, I figured that I had enough time to shower and freshen up before dinner. Since you never get a second chance to make a first impression, I thought that I should likely make everything about our planned dinner worth Stacyann’s while. I laid out my Black Armani suit on my bed along with my Ferragamo tie that would be framed by a crisp white shirt. The Oxford shoes (actually a pair of brogued Oxfords — suck it Kingsmen…) and my Rolex waited by the nightstand. Following a shower and a fresh shave, I was ready to eat like a king. Perry’s Steakhouse is basically a five minute walk from the Ritz. Seeing that the late November weather was accommodating, I chose to make the trek on foot. I figured that it would also help me burn off a little bit of the meal afterwards to have to walk back — the big ass pork chop at Perry’s was beckoning me. Arriving at the restaurant, Stacyann had not yet made her appearance — fashionably late I hopefully presumed in lieu of considering the probability of her likely being a case of “Dude Looks Like a Lady” — so I opted to wait at the bar rather than using up a table for the time being. The bar at Perry’s is a an island floating in an ocean of dark leather, wood grains and opulent atmosphere that enhanced every aspect to the event of dining. Even though the space is large, every part of the restaurant oozes a lustrous intimacy. Wherever you sit, it almost feels like it is just you and your company for the night. At the bar, my drink for the night was a Hendricks with tonic — served with a cucumber — along with a helping of small talk provided by the lovely bartender, a blonde, long-stemmed, Texas Rose named “Ava with an A”. As a Canadian I appreciated the hospitality, given that we generally liked everything with an “eh”, eh? At twenty minutes past 8:00, I was on to a second Hendricks and made the executive decision to grab a table. “Ava with an A” escorted me to my table and looking at her long legged form, I half wished that she might be game to accompany me back to my hotel for either a little rub and tickle or some crazed monkey love — whatever really. Remembering Mick from Rocky, I wondered if getting busy like that really was “bad for the legs”, but considered my options as possibly being worthy of a research project. By 8:30, Stacyann was nowhere in sight, I was losing hope and adjusted possibility that “she” was likely some hairy dude named Bubba sitting in a trailer park in Albuquerque from “maybe” to “highly probable”. “Fuck it”, I figured, “Might as well eat.” A third (?) Hendricks helped dull the pain of rejection. If you’ve never had the pork chop at Perry’s, it’s an epic hunk o’ hog served with mashed potatoes and a wedge of lime. Prepare to leave with a doggie bag, because if you make it through that bad boy in one sitting, then you’ve got a problem and/or a hollow leg. With my estimate of being five Hendrick’s in, I was convinced that I was flying solo and the Bubba Meter shifted to “Stacyann is DEFINITELY a Dude”. I had won the dinner round with the score being a decisive 1-0 victory by way of default. I thought only a tie was like kissing you sister. Default wins most definitely sucked and I began to set my focus on the game between the Bolts and the Boys. At least that part of the trip was sure not to disappoint. Fuck you and your trailer park, Bubba. Opting for a another Hendrick’s while I waited for my cheque, as I was cursing my eternal, misplaced optimism and Bubba “The Karate Hottie” Berkowitz of Albuquerque, New Mexico, I considered cutting myself off from the virtual world along with all of its charlatans, frauds, phoneys and trolls. Then — as I considered free online porn and the benefits of “Netflix and chill” — decided that I maybe needed to give the World Wide Web another chance. I really was magnanimous. I also had the sneaking suspicion that I was also quite drunk. As I observed that my latest Hendrick’s seemed to have drained away of its own volition and was checking the bottom of my glass to make sure that there wasn’t a hole in it, the cheque arrived at the table. “Your bill sir”, came the waitress’ voice with a brisk chill. I was trying to mentally account for how many drinks I’d consumed, so at first I did not look up because — in that current state — that task required obsessive focus. However, the waitress really smelled great — I guessed Chanel — therefore it seemed to dictate that I investigate further. “Thank you”, I replied, “Is that Chanel that you are wearing?” She was a mature beauty — likely either late 30’s or early 40’s — but very stunning. Long black hair framed a tanned a face that was classically structured with high arching eyebrows and model calibre cheekbones. Her eyes were a deep cocoa brown with flecks of golden caramel that looked impossibly large and bottomless — fall into those and you would never hit bottom. While she wore a no nonsense expression, there was a quality to her face that suggested that she was prone to laughter. I wondered if she had any plans for after work. “Why yes it is, Herman” she began as she pulled up the chair opposite me, “You obviously know your fragrances. Is this one that you tend to wear?” The black dress looked like it had been painted on and was cropped to expose her a midsection that was unquestionably sexy and featured well grooved abdominals. Her body was rock solid and notably athletic. Finishing her look were black heels that looked to be Louboutin. “I wear Chanel”, I replied, “But not the women’s stuff. Thanks for joining me, but isn’t this customer service approach a wee bit familiar?” A bare, well-pedicured foot appeared in my groin area. “Does physical contact bother you, Herman?”, she asked, “Do you prefer to keep things a little more impersonal?” The foot began stroking my man bits. “That’s really distracting”, I noted, “But that’s not to say it’s a bad thing. I’d say that physical contact is actually something that I encourage. Could I maybe encourage you to partake in some physical contact — maybe this evening in my hotel room, for example?” She tossed her head back and laughed. The stroking of my crotch was already provoking a warm response, the laugh had galvanized that into full boner mode. “Oh Herman, you are so funny”, she said, “But I can’t join you in your hotel room tonight...” “That’s a shame”, I interjected with a side of added dejection, maybe the puppy dog approach could still win the day. “...because we are scheduled to get together tomorrow, remember?” The foot punctuated her statement by squishing my balls like grapes. Good God — was it really her? The Bubba Meter exploded while performing a hard reset to "Shit -- She's Really a Girl". “Stacyann?”, I questioned. Her eyes narrowed and her face darkened. She leaned in for emphasis. “Bingo, Herman”, she intimated with quiet intensity, her eyes burning holes right through me, “I just came to give you one final chance to back away with your dignity intact. If you want to turn and run, NOW is your chance. I promise you, if you step on a mat with me tomorrow, I will break you.” The foot trying to crush my balls was already a bit of an issue if I’m being totally honest. “What about if we stepped in child’s pool filled with baby oil?”, I joked, probably at a time when Stacyann may not have been fully committed to levity, “It could make for a fun filled experience and get us around all these troubling technicalities.” The foot mini-stomped me in the balls, promoting a bit of a pained groan. “You’re making jokes?”, she asked incredulously while backing away from the table briefly to cock her eyebrow, then leaning back in to be sure that I could hear her, “I am a fourth degree black belt. I am trained to crush little boys like you and I actually LOVE doing just that. Are you high? Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish? I am giving you one chance. What is your answer?” I think it may have been seven Hendrick’s. Maybe it was six. Could it have been eight? In any event, they were all talking. “I think this is what we agreed to”, I began, “High Noon tomorrow, Marshal Dillon — unless you want to swing by tonight so we can try matching his and her orgasms ahead of wits versus tits tomorrow?” A heavier mini stomp was a real buzz kill. Given that I was half snapped on Hendrick’s, I wondered how much my nuts would be hurting if I was sober. Chicks and balls, man. Chicks and balls… “Enjoy tonight, Herman, it’s yours”, Stacyann growled, “Tomorrow, your ass is mine.” With that, Stacyann rose from her chair, pausing to put her shoe back on. “Sleep well tonight, Herman. After tomorrow, I will haunt your dreams. I'd love to stay, but unfortunately I have to go ‘wank myself off into a sock’ right now.” She walked away briskly. That was a REALLY great dress. God, what an ass. I checked the bill — look at that, it was actually nine Hendrick’s — hopefully it was the new Gatorade, otherwise the little grapple fest tomorrow with Miss Congeniality could prove to be a bit more problematic No matter what, it was definitely shaping up to be interesting week… To Be Continued… Last edited by HermanDG; 23-Nov-17 at 11:02. |
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#20
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Re: November 2017: Stacyann
Thanks for making me want to meet Stacyann more than I already did, mate. Really looking forward to reading your account of what happened at High Noon. Thank you very much.
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back-and-forth, ball busting, foot domination, hot women, male vs female, mixed competitive, naked wrestling, sexy karate woman, stacyann, submission grappling |
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