3 things that irked me at a SC recently

just some Sunday randomness:

1. Gophers. A young, blonde, spinner was walking around with a halter top that showed off how amazingly real and jiggly her breasts were. The top halves of her halter cups were completely open and they looked like the best Jell-o I never had. No table dances, straight to the VIP. She took off her top and they were real - real gofers. She took off her top and her tits go [fer] her knees. Baby damage?

2. Meat bullets. Next, a sexy, toned, more mature brunette. Everything perfectly proportioned, toned, and shaped. An ass like onion (made me want to cry), toned quads and arms, just a hint of a six-pack and hip flexors, and perfectly sized breasts. I believed they could be real, because they were not overly large and she wasn't 0% body fat. Table dances to start. Top comes off, tits don't move. At all. Not a millimeter. She leaned, swayed, forward and back, side to side, and her boobs stared straight ahead like perfect FMJ parabellums. It seems I may have overcorrected from the gofers.

3. Picasso. A six foot tall, statuesque, blonde, MILF. Big, fake MILFy porn tits, with a waist, thighs and ass to match. She was not fat, not even chubby - think Julia Ann or Alexis Fawx (Fawk?). She was wearing a sock dress that clung to her curves in just the right way. I walk up to introduce myself, strike up a conversation, and have just asked her for a lapper when she is called on stage. When this happens, I site by the stage to tip and make sure she comes to see me next (unless someone is really outbidding me with stage tips). Music starts, dress comes off, and I realize I have made a terrible mistake. The tits were real. Real bad bolt-ons. Her skin had the same consistency as her dress - fuzzy. Not with the peach fuzz some women have, but crepey fuzzy as happens after the Florida sun burns away all of your elastic collagen. Like a Pablo Picasso painting- she was good from afar but far from good.