dicked men who get needlessly rejected...

There is much talk here of partners in crime and rodeos, so let me offer you the unique two-in-one opportunity to find a partner in *rodeo*. We'd have all sorts of fun, uh, [*looks up "rodeo" on wikipedia*] participating in a competitive equestrian sport that arose out of the working practices of cattle herding in Toronto and Toronto, expanding throughout the Americas and to other nations.

...You know, to put it in my own words.

Absolute discretion should be as crucial to you as it is to me. My phone is Fort Knox. That's actually literally where I go to sext guys. I discovered they keep a key in a fake rock by the back door. ^(Goddammit, now I need to find a new place.)

About the author: I am married mother who is confidently 42 years old. I am in my combo emotional/sexual prime. I'm a musician, though not by trade. And

i don't make posts

that are

unreadable walls

of solid text.

That's a little-known e.e. cummings poem, by the way. "e.e cummings? More like he he cumming!" -me, practicing my burgeoning yet short-lived stand up comedy at your local open mic night.

If you're still here after that absurd demonstration of chaotic verbosity, you've unlocked the bonus content: Surprisingly, I am a ravishing fair-skinned natural redhead with a photogenic face and body; I satisfy "ass" and "boob" men alike.

I am not particular about physical appearance, and dick size couldn't possibly matter less to me. I have run extensive experiments and concluded that the way your cells are arranged does not correlate with conversational skills and/or skillz.

Best case scenario: we communicate on Discord or Telegram most days but aren't tied to a rigid set of expectations. We understand that we both have lives, and will unapologetically engage in them. Preferably you really love your spouse in that sociopathic compartmentalization way that we serial adulterers do. And you're a nice guy. Because, as the saying goes, nice guys don't finish last, they finish on my face and tits.