The mail as invitation and trap
I’m still trying to figure out why i seem to have become the most sought-after man in the world in the last few weeks. Many women want to get to know me, but do not dare to contact me directly. With some i had obviously already contact, therefore i should announce myself again times and send already times horny pit. Some have put nice photos of themselves or us in the net, which i should look at absolutely.
Already for weeks the messages in my email box formally straighten me up. I’m more in demand than i have been for a long time, so i don’t bother to pull in my belly when i’m walking or riding the subway. Above all, it is noticeable that many women are still quite shuchtern, because they have seen me somewhere and want to contact me by email way.
The second category of women who adore me are madels, with whom i am supposed to have already had sizzling erotic conversations in explicit chats. Casanova must have been an orphan against my keyboards, because all women want to meet me and offer me hot photos on their website.
The night of the night
However, i was surprised to read from julia sprengler whether i had recovered from our first night together. "It was really exciting with you! I have never experienced something like that! I put our recordings on my site, here you have the link: www.Xxx.Xxx." are these daytime nightmares? Who is julia and what are these photos? Maybe there is only one sex-producing hallodri under my unique mail address, who meets with these women for the purpose of exchanging sexual experiences.
Only now and then you have to behave as a pig: at least the following mail from manuela reached me: "thanks again, you pig! First you xxx me, and then you don’t even pay your booze bill at peter’s place… That is really the last thing from you… If you still have a conscience, then contact me in the chat." the bad word with "xxx" is naturally deleted for reasons of youth protection.
The spam mails that have been filling up my mailbox over the last few months really only want one thing from me: and that’s certainly not an erotic friendship, but just a phone bill in the form of a dialer into my wallet. The reply e-mails of the attracted and curious addressees disappear naturally in the nirvana of the net. Instead, they are directed to dubious sites where they find tons of images of women. And bill collectors can’t just leave the house, the bill comes pointy and juicy via the telekom. Fortunately, almost all of my mails automatically end up in the electronic trash, because how am i supposed to explain them to my wife or my still very young cat??