So
yes, I attended the DILF party.
And
yes I had an amazing time.
I'd
also been to the previous one.
But
this time I had that feeling of nervous excitement before a big night out that
I hadn't had since I was an ingenue party-goer.
Perhaps
because it involved a sense of adventure.
Tapping
into my intrepid spirit.
I
had to travel outside my comfort zone.
To
Marrickville.
Which
although felt like a far flung western suburb, also came with hopes of a
whole new category of hottie.
Which
I was totally up for.
Not
that the inner eastern suburbs of Sydney are short on hotties.
In
fact this densely populated and highly developed area is rumoured to have more
faggots per cubic metre than anywhere in the world.
Which
makes my single status even more disturbing.
So
despite knowing that hundreds of them were being bussed to the western suburbs
for the same reason as I was venturing out there, I felt confident that I would
be experiencing a whole new target market.
However,
I was also mildly apprehensive.
For
the last time I'd traveled this far with an illicit substance on my person I'd
been arrested.
And
charged.
With
possession.
So
I insisted everybody meet at may place.
And
go to the party by car.
Hire
Car.
Which
turned out to be a stretch Merc.
With
tinted windows.
Sexy
in its own way, but not really in line with the DILF theme of the night.
And
then when we pulled up outside I sent @cute_cousin to make sure the coast was
clear.
The
venue was mercifully free of boiler suited policeman and sensitive labradors.
So
in we strode.
Well,
we kind of sashayed.
And
then remembered that we're meant to swagger.
Which
we attempted.
Unsuccessfully.
Which
to be honest, was not really a problem.
Because
those DILFs were not setting a particularly high standard of butch...
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