He felt like he was fast becoming an addict. He could not stop thinking about her.
And despite how he hated the crowd, he could not stop coming back to the bar where they met.
Somedays she was there, at other times she was not. It was hard to tell when she would come so he came every night.
Because she praised his look, he tried to copy that every time. He would have gotten tired of his hair color by now, he used to change his hair color almost every other week.
But now, even when it's fading he just redyed it to the same bright purple. She liked it. So it is what matters.
"OMG! Look at your hair! Always fabulous! Tell me your secret already," she squeeled, hugging him as her breasts made contact with his back.
His body stiffened, made him very much aware of another tightening of his pants. He could not help it.
His reaction to her was potent and extreme. And somehow he did not want to do anything about it.
