All the time alone was not a good thing, Nadrea could feel herself slipping into to a place inside herself, her fears, and her own world that was not healthy in any way, isolated and alone with no contact that didn’t involve a bit of liquid libation and someone to make her body sting in so many ways. She was alone with her own demons, swimming in her own deviance between lovers. Life was so simple, a few drinks, shove a toy in her own ass and finger herself time and again to the point of release. Often to the point of rubbing herself completely raw. The music was always playing and on this occasion it was an ironic choice of Mary Poppins singing “A spoon full of sugar”. If there was music to accompany her then she wasn’t alone, she was lost in the words or the rhythm, dark reddish brown hair in part caressing her shoulders and the remainder of her locks fanned out on the cold tile floor. She was dancing endlessly in her mind while she obsessed about the next place to be and who it would be with, drinks here and dinner there a nice a slap in the face and a good fuck in the alley. Add more vodka a little self applied riding crop to her inner thighs a painfully big insertion and repeat, shaking uncontrollably in her heels and garter belt on the floor fantasizing about nothing more complicated than the next orgasm and the potential of it’s own life affirming intensity. Sure she could lie to herself about her lack of social interaction outside of alcohol, her profession and the scene, but the truth was only in the still of the night does the thought of her own mortality ever cross her mind, the fact she was alone not just for the moment but alone in life. The room was spinning, so it was almost time to head out, a little vodka and short wool black and white checkered skirt and full out slut blouse, if you want to sell it, it helps to advertise and tonight she was looking for a little companionship that wasn’t battery operated and self applied. It was dark and cold, but then again everywhere got dark and cold but it was the first chilly evening of an all too humid summer. The songs had moved on through many others as she took a little more spirit in and a little X to help her feel more at peace. As she headed for the door to the latest party the chorus of “girls don’t like boys, girl’s like cars and money” followed her down the stair as she thought to herself and “big dicks…girls like really, really big fat dicks, or at least I do” and she giggled to herself.
Nadrea was quite possibly the most penis sized obsessed woman in her demographic in the entire DC metro, a part of the world run by people who play whose dick is bigger for a living. Not a single man from puberty to death could pass her without her imagining the size and shape, the length and girth. Her cool eyes lost in their own perverse calculation, or its potential uses and his preferences. Size didn’t matter as a part of intercourse.
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