This story and this photo are of my best memories in the fabulous world of cuckoldry.
Running was the year 2005 and I lived in a pigsty on Cordoba Avenue. Taking my first steps as a bull, in a world that still didn't digest this fascinating sport. Without Twitter, without WhatsApp and with not too many couples wanting to exercise their osamenta activity, you had to have many desires and too much patience. Those were times when cell phones did not have cameras. Those were times when if a crazy guy posted on Poringa saying he liked it when his girlfriend got screwed, he would only receive insults and loads.
Were times when to access the almost unique page of contacts available, you had to approach a newspaper stand that was
In June and Cordoba Avenue and buy a key that came in a little paper, hilarious.
So that's how I received a night contact that had all the ingredients to be a scam, because also that was a disaster: those were the times when almost everything was false on the internet. The message said, we're picking up in Chacarita, Romina wants cock. Come?
I felt the same way I feel when the flight attendant tells me to turn off my cell phone because the plane might crash, one knows that's not very likely, but in doubt...
I asked for tests with little courtesy and received a landline phone, not even a cell phone.
I went out to the street to call from a public phone (yes, they still existed) so that the jerk who was annoying me wouldn't bother me for the rest of the year by calling my house.
I let it ring several times and was about to hang up, but a very low voice held me back.
Romina knew it was me, but I didn't let myself believe Romina was Romina. Simply they gave me the phone number of a cutie with Angel's voice, I thought, that's easy to achieve. But Romina gave heaven the color of a summer dream, and without the modesty of her 21 years, not knowing if I was a serial killer and without beating around the bush she said: come or don't come?
Yes yes, I'm coming, I thought thinking what would be my next move in that chess of suspicions.
Romina gave me an address on Rodney Street. Yes, the one from the bar.
Call a trusted friend and ask him to take note of the address where they would steal my organs and I would wake up in an ice bath with another gem from the internet back then. If I don't call you in two hours, come looking for me, I told Turi.
I arrived under a demonic rain, because important things, as you know, happen on a rainy day. Coins were falling from my neck. I rang the doorbell and out came a cocky guy who didn't seem to have finished high school. Amorous, friendly, and approachable. He invites me in and makes a pause under the carport's awning, leans his ass against the Peugeot 504's bumper, and unfolds a detailed list of recommendations, orders, and suggestions for everything to be beautiful and memorable. The rain was pounding against the tin roof and the floor began to flood. I looked inside the house and saw a girl as stunning as that summer rain pass by. I danced from one side of her living room to the other, almost without touching the floor, like a ghost. I stopped listening to the boyfriend who wouldn't stop talking, started feeling an enormous happiness for what I thought was about to happen. I returned my attention to the little genius with horns and a director's technical palm guided me towards his house door. I entered. I suppose I smiled when I saw Romina. Everything inside was perfect; she danced and waved shyly from afar, pretending that Babasonicos' topic interested her more than my presence.
They were two pure ones, they were two geniuses who got together and went with the mambo to her, and it occurred to her to shout 'cuck' at him and his brain exploded, as usually happens.
Accept a hot beer and sit down in a 1843 armchair. Romina had everything organized, a demolishing dance with pervasively selected themes for her delight. A spine-tingling erotic choreography, barely coordinated with the music. A distant cuck with an extricated gaze, out of himself. The scene was cinematic. Rain kept pounding on the roofs.
The hand of Romina grabs my balls and bringing her mouth to my right ear asks with sympathy: do you really have that cock from the internet photos??
It wasn't necessary to say anything, it would have been something lame and trivial. The cock already had its own life and -like the eighth passenger- took off from my pants. The cuck trembled, murmured, gasped...and yet nothing had happened yet. Romina hangs from her balls, Romina plays with violence, Romina swears, Romina pulls out her white tits, Romina bends down and gags a lot, a lot, a lot. Romina spits out the cock. Romina talks with her mouth full. Romina sucks the balls until her ass, Romina is a wild creature. The first thing heard when the end of a theme made a brief interval of silence was a denigrating humiliation towards her boyfriend.
I'm afraid of the end of the ruckus. Nothing like that, the cuck was a real cuck, there were no amateurs here.
I caught Rominita like a wild dog, without first licking her butt like Quico does his palette of colors. When we were almost done, the cuck burst into the scene and asked permission to eternalize the screwing he was giving his girlfriend. I took this photo that is my favorite of all time and share it with you, lovely cucks. Years passed, many things changed but I keep catching myself systematically with all the girlfriends and wives of the most genius cucks in this damned city.
Painful clarification: this published photo was humbly one of the most used and worn out on party networks in the 2000 decade. The photo is mine, that's me and I can prove it.
Running was the year 2005 and I lived in a pigsty on Cordoba Avenue. Taking my first steps as a bull, in a world that still didn't digest this fascinating sport. Without Twitter, without WhatsApp and with not too many couples wanting to exercise their osamenta activity, you had to have many desires and too much patience. Those were times when cell phones did not have cameras. Those were times when if a crazy guy posted on Poringa saying he liked it when his girlfriend got screwed, he would only receive insults and loads.
Were times when to access the almost unique page of contacts available, you had to approach a newspaper stand that was
In June and Cordoba Avenue and buy a key that came in a little paper, hilarious.
So that's how I received a night contact that had all the ingredients to be a scam, because also that was a disaster: those were the times when almost everything was false on the internet. The message said, we're picking up in Chacarita, Romina wants cock. Come?
I felt the same way I feel when the flight attendant tells me to turn off my cell phone because the plane might crash, one knows that's not very likely, but in doubt...
I asked for tests with little courtesy and received a landline phone, not even a cell phone.
I went out to the street to call from a public phone (yes, they still existed) so that the jerk who was annoying me wouldn't bother me for the rest of the year by calling my house.
I let it ring several times and was about to hang up, but a very low voice held me back.
Romina knew it was me, but I didn't let myself believe Romina was Romina. Simply they gave me the phone number of a cutie with Angel's voice, I thought, that's easy to achieve. But Romina gave heaven the color of a summer dream, and without the modesty of her 21 years, not knowing if I was a serial killer and without beating around the bush she said: come or don't come?
Yes yes, I'm coming, I thought thinking what would be my next move in that chess of suspicions.
Romina gave me an address on Rodney Street. Yes, the one from the bar.
Call a trusted friend and ask him to take note of the address where they would steal my organs and I would wake up in an ice bath with another gem from the internet back then. If I don't call you in two hours, come looking for me, I told Turi.
I arrived under a demonic rain, because important things, as you know, happen on a rainy day. Coins were falling from my neck. I rang the doorbell and out came a cocky guy who didn't seem to have finished high school. Amorous, friendly, and approachable. He invites me in and makes a pause under the carport's awning, leans his ass against the Peugeot 504's bumper, and unfolds a detailed list of recommendations, orders, and suggestions for everything to be beautiful and memorable. The rain was pounding against the tin roof and the floor began to flood. I looked inside the house and saw a girl as stunning as that summer rain pass by. I danced from one side of her living room to the other, almost without touching the floor, like a ghost. I stopped listening to the boyfriend who wouldn't stop talking, started feeling an enormous happiness for what I thought was about to happen. I returned my attention to the little genius with horns and a director's technical palm guided me towards his house door. I entered. I suppose I smiled when I saw Romina. Everything inside was perfect; she danced and waved shyly from afar, pretending that Babasonicos' topic interested her more than my presence.
They were two pure ones, they were two geniuses who got together and went with the mambo to her, and it occurred to her to shout 'cuck' at him and his brain exploded, as usually happens.
Accept a hot beer and sit down in a 1843 armchair. Romina had everything organized, a demolishing dance with pervasively selected themes for her delight. A spine-tingling erotic choreography, barely coordinated with the music. A distant cuck with an extricated gaze, out of himself. The scene was cinematic. Rain kept pounding on the roofs.
The hand of Romina grabs my balls and bringing her mouth to my right ear asks with sympathy: do you really have that cock from the internet photos??
It wasn't necessary to say anything, it would have been something lame and trivial. The cock already had its own life and -like the eighth passenger- took off from my pants. The cuck trembled, murmured, gasped...and yet nothing had happened yet. Romina hangs from her balls, Romina plays with violence, Romina swears, Romina pulls out her white tits, Romina bends down and gags a lot, a lot, a lot. Romina spits out the cock. Romina talks with her mouth full. Romina sucks the balls until her ass, Romina is a wild creature. The first thing heard when the end of a theme made a brief interval of silence was a denigrating humiliation towards her boyfriend.
I'm afraid of the end of the ruckus. Nothing like that, the cuck was a real cuck, there were no amateurs here.
I caught Rominita like a wild dog, without first licking her butt like Quico does his palette of colors. When we were almost done, the cuck burst into the scene and asked permission to eternalize the screwing he was giving his girlfriend. I took this photo that is my favorite of all time and share it with you, lovely cucks. Years passed, many things changed but I keep catching myself systematically with all the girlfriends and wives of the most genius cucks in this damned city.
Painful clarification: this published photo was humbly one of the most used and worn out on party networks in the 2000 decade. The photo is mine, that's me and I can prove it.
21 comentários - Romina y el cornudo de la calle Rodney
felicitaciones
Los miedos de que aprezca un asecino serial son de los dos "bandos" jajajaj
te enviamos msj
http://www.poringa.net/posts/poringueros/4136466/Pendejo-pija-perfecta-21cm-gorda.html
Gracias por la exquisita combinación entre salvajada y humor.
👏☺