Can I Get A Witness
I pumped and thrusted until I was about to explode. At the moment of triumph I popped my cork from her hole and jammed it into her mug for the offload. As she worked my hammer off, greedily milking me of my jam, I leaned over and gathered her things, shoving pamphlets and assorted literature into her bag. By the time she had composed herself and took a pull off my beer, I was already standing at my open door with her knapsack held out in her direction. I must admit, she was a tad miffed at such an efficient brush-off. After the door closed behind her, while I was walking across the living room, I heard her yelling her final question from down the sidewalk: "HEY! Didn't you want one of these Watchtower booklets??"
No, babe. I really didn't.