Being gifted in the handsome department is both a blessing and a curse. Only yesterday I walked up the High Street of the small town near me. I was wearing a yellow-green checked Le Chameau, Tartan Tie and elegantly fitted Black Harrington jacket. I had showered, shaved and shat before I left the house.
In each shop I went into, the air turned as fishy as the shithouse on a Portland Trawler. The mere sight of me was sliming up every woman’s clunge instantly. It was slippery gusset Saturday. Unfortunately my shyness meant I just went home on my own and ate my dinner in front of the TV on my own. Then went to bed and got up today on my own.
At least Evan has all the rimming, fisting and bumming to take the edge of the curse of handsomeness.