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still searching, still sore Friday afternoon I had an appointment to meet with a woman who was renting what was essentially a basement apartment in her home, but she did not show up at the time we agreed upon. I arrived early, knocked a few times, gave her a couple of calls, did some more knocking, and then opened the front door so I could yell inside. The door only opened partway, and then came to rest against a shopping basket full of turnips and old cans of soup. A quick look in the foyer showed me piles of clothing and various domestic items strewn about every available surface. It was a cross between a hoarder and an artist gone bad and I didn’t like the looks of it one bit. Making my way across a debris-strewn deck, I found a path that led me to the private entrance of the apartment I was there to look at. As I made my way along it I did my best to keep a positive attitude. Just because the landlady lived like that didn’t mean I had to, or that the space I wanted to rent was infected with the same filth and disorder. The door to the apartment was indeed open, and I took a quick tour before deciding it was not to my liking. Curiosity, however, got the best of me and I decided to go exploring upstairs some more, in the main part of the house. Taking the creaking steps up to the kitchen, I looked around in amazement as the same levels of chaos and filth. The kitchen was not fit for boiling water in, the bedroom barely contained a bed and there was no shower or bathtub in sight. Satisfied with my decision, and minor invasion of privacy, I left. Forty minutes later, my phone rang, and it was the landlady, wondering where I was. When I explained that I’d already been to the house, and seen the apartment, she was surprised. She made it sound like she’d been there, but just hadn’t heard me, which is highly unlikely. I’ll admit I didn’t go through every single room in the house but I covered most of it. Nobody was there, I’m sure of it. I told the lady I was not interested, and she abruptly hung up. A few moments later, while on the phone with someone else, she tried to call me. I ignored it, and let it go to voicemail, but she did not leave a message. A few moments later the phone rang again though, so I answered it. The same lady who’d just told me she hadn’t heard me knocking or yelling out her name when I’d visited the house suddenly changed her story and explained that her car had broken down and that was the reason she hadn’t been there on time. It was as if she had completely forgotten the previous conversation. So it’s another weekend with the girlfriend. We’re not having a whole lot of sex because she is menstruating, and I’m not very fond of the mess that comes with that. She’s also been a bit emotional, which is normal, so the cock has mostly stayed in the pants. That’s fine because, as I’ve explained before, it gives it a chance to rest. The reason it needs rest is because it’s been getting all that use with the ftm I’ve been fucking. The post I’ve promised to write about that will be up later this evening. |
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