Ring.
---------------------- Reply to: pers-66408490852@craigslist.org in town until may 5th and looking for a little fun! serious inquiries only, please...and no trannies. Or grannies. (Photo of Charley Crisp shown, posing topless next to a surfboard and wearing blue-shield aviator sunglasses. Trademark smile spread across his face, ocean behind in full view.) * Location: boise PostingID: 66408490852
traveling sub seeking BDSM/fetish play (PIC INSIDE) - m4w - 24 - (Boise)
Date: 2008-04-30, 4:59PM MDT
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
------------------------
Ring.
------------------------ Hi, Charley...I'm a perfectly qualified domme with plenty of experience in most fetishes and BDSM play. I have a clear schedule all week, so if you'd like to get together with me, please respond. My website is (censored) for photos, and my going rate is $175 for the first hour, $100 each additional. Be in touch. Yours,
From: mstrsskye38@aol.com
To: pers-66408490852@craigslist.org
Sent: Thursday, May 1 2008 11:03 PM
Subject: Session?
Mistress Skye
------------------------
Ring.
------------------------ Miss Skye, Although I haven't paid for a session in quite some time, I'd be happy to serve. How does tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. sound? Reply back A.S.A.P. so we can get this set up. - C
From: c2thacrisp@gmail.com
To: mstrsskye38@aol.com
Sent: Thursday, May 1 2008 8:24 PM
Subject: Re: Session?
------------------------
Ring.
------------------------ Charley, Fantastic! Your original reply begged for a little research, and I see you were quite the name in the business. If you wanted to work a video session, maybe we can arrange a deal for the fee? I look forward to hearing from you: please give me a call at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Look forward to hearing from you soon! Yours,
From: mstrsskye38@aol.com
To: c2thacrisp@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, May 1 2008 9:31 PM
Subject: Re: Session?
Mistress Skye
-------------------------
'Hi, you've reached my voicemail. If you're a client and need to book a session, you should e-mail me at...'
End call.
'God dammit.'
Cookie leaned forward and propelled himself off the couch, scrunching his toes as he yawned and stretched his arms skyward. Flipping his phone down, Charley pulled the bottom of his Strangers With Candy: What Would Jerri Do? T-shirt down to stretch just above crotch level. He examined the surroundings of his temporary quarters. Ironically enough, Charley's cousin TJ and his wife lived in the rural community of Eagle, just outside of next week's work. It was a windy Friday afternoon when he woke up to Rolo the Cat's gentle nuzzling of his exposed upper back amidst the amber sheets on the guest futon. Charley scratched his head as a thoughtful smile spread across his face, observing the kitsch and decoration of the living room.
While he enjoyed the company of TJ and Cindy and was certainly grateful for their infinite hospitality, it was nice to be alone while both were at work...TJ teaching gym and directing summer football workouts at the high school, and Cindy at her highly-coveted managerial position at the Boise Mervyn's department store. Charley and his cousin didn't exactly have a lot in common, and the wholesome vanilla lifestyle led by him and his wife was nothing short of vomit-inducing to the Cookie. It's not that he didn't appreciate someone who chose the traditional path of marriage, child planning, church every Wednesday and Sunday, and missionary-only fucking...it's just a little difficult trying to explain his kind of lifestyle to a couple of white-breaders. So, he chose not to. TJ wasn't a wrestling fan, and Charley's exploits were a well-kept secret that never found their way into the quaint little home of his blood.
Which is why Charley was about to burst. Not only had he not been queened by a willing young lass in the past week, but he dared not send the tadpoles upstream through the drain of the shower, or caught the little fellers with a Kleenex. At this rate, if something weren't done about it soon, he'd have enough precum built up to bust the Hoover Dam. Charles 'Gimme That Squish Mitten' Crisp has never been camera shy, but this house had an eerie effect on his cock psyche. Of particular note, aside from the various wedding photos and TJ's framed BYU football jersey were the sacred heart candles and various other crosses, paintings, and depictions of Biblical merchandise most likely acquired from Hymns-n-Shit, or one of those Christian stores that littered Boise. It's not that Charley had anything against this, but the saintly decorations were EVERYWHERE...even a silhouette of Jesus hung within the porcelain walls of TJ's shower. How's a man going to exercise his demons in front of the Man himself?
Charley secretly wondered if this was a scare tactic put on TJ himself...or better yet, his wife...to hold his ground against the wages of sin. Either way, it was doing the trick. Charley found it impossible to lodge a hard-on. Even upon awaking to piss in the morning (or afternoons, mostly), Chuck Jr. was in a state of perpetual hibernation, and he had the vengeful hand of God to thank. At least that was coming into play, because Charley's vengeful hand sure as hell didn't serve much purpose in this mother fucking place. Kastidy could have walked in this place wearing nothing but a line of Reddi-Whip on her crack, and a hummingbird feather would've been more of an attention-getter for the sexually-driven Chocolate Chipper.
Crisp shook his head and sighed, thumping below his belt for any signs of life. Defeated, he started for the guest bedroom to grab his sneakers and duffel bag and make the drive to the Boise Gold's Gym for his regularly scheduled routine...
However, when he reached the door hang, the Benny Hill theme song accompanied by vibrations in his pelvic region brought a smile to his face. He didn't even bother to gaze at the number...the vixen was a careful one, and knew not to answer any call until she could trace the number for any auspicious activity.
'This Charley...talk to me,' he greeted.
'Hi...Charley? This is Leyla...I'm an 'understudy' of Skye's. How are you?'
Shit. He feared the worst as he walked into the room, gazing upon the Last Supper portrait on the tan front wall. The last thing he needed was a cancellation.
'Fine, fine. How are you, Ms. Leyla?'
'Great,' she responded. 'Listen, Skye wanted me to call you and ask you a small favor...'
'Hope she's not wanting to push it back,' Charley stated firmly. 'I'm outta Idaho on Monday.'
'No, no...that's not it at all! Well...she does want to push it back, but only an hour or so...something came up that she has to take care of, which is why I'm calling you right now.'
Charley's hopeless frown turned immediately upside down.
'Just an hour or so? I can definitely do that!' he exclaimed.
'Excellent! There is one other thing,' Leyla stammered, showing hints of nervousness. It's a rookie domme thing. 'She...well...I had wanted to ask...well...I've been exposed to your work, and was thinking it might be a good idea for me being an understudy...if maybe...I could join in on the session? I mean...it won't cost you any extra at all! I'd just maybe...like a critique afterwards? I know that sounds really odd, but...'
Charley swore to God that he'd just seen Judas animate from the picture and give him a wink and thumbs-up gesture.
'No problems here! I like the enthusiasm, actually. So I'll see you both at six...can I get the address?'
'Of course!'
----------------------------------------------------
He had a little time to kill, but nothing could have prepared him for the experience he was about to undergo. And unfortunately, I'm not talking about the aforementioned three-way kink fest.
Edging his way to the bathroom after a quick 'shooka-shooka' to Rolo's chin, Charley rolled up to the mirror and gave a thorough examination of his teeth, making sure they were the whitest and brightest they could be. His face: fresh. Pecs: ready for the pump. Fucking amazing Abe Lincoln tattoo on his bicep: ready to break the chains of slavery that held the millions of sperm in the Southern plantation that was his testicles. Armpits: hmmm. Not bad, but could use a little help.
Cookie opened the mirror that contained the hidden medicine cabinet. A wide-eyed look of discovery and a reach to the top for the can of AXE body spray resulted. A few quick squirts of the aerosol underneath his pits, across his chest, and one underneath his jeans to do a body good.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
This shit really works. Ladies swarming from as far away as East Eagle picked up the scent, he thought. Ignoring the patter at the door, Charley figured that whoever the culprit was, they'd give up and go away thinking no one was at home.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
'God dammit.'
'Hey,' Charley imagined the pin-up of Moses behind him mumble, 'Not cool, asshole.'
Smiling, he threw his shirt back on and made a split-second decision to humor the guest, as he hurried to the front door in a half-jog.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
'COMING!' Charley responded.
*CREAK*
Without waiting for any kind of greeting, the pale-faced skinny male who appeared to be in his late 20s...eyes half-closed through his Coke bottle prescription glasses...went directly into a schpiel that seemed rehearsed about five-hundred times in front of a full-length mirror.
'Hi, I'm Chip and I've come to make you an offer you can't refuse,' he stammered through at the speed of light without any hint of emotion. 'These bowls, woven from synthetic nylon polymers, keep all your household items fresh and not only that, they are virtually indestructible. May I have a minute of your time so that I can tell you more about this exciting line of food storage products?'
Charley couldn't help but stifle laughter...not only at the awful sales pitch, but at the way this guy both looked and dressed. He looked like a cross between Mike Myers' 'Computer Guy' character and an accountant with a penchant for pastel. Examining his thigh-high khaki shorts and canary no-brand polo shirt all the way up to his child molester mustache and the hairstyle that complimented it, Charley shook his head, burying his eyes into his hands.
'Sorry bro...I don't actually live here. This is my cousin's pad, and I'm shacking up with him and his wife until Monday. You'll have to come back tonight when they're here.'
'Dangit!' he quipped, curling his lip just enough so that the bottoms of his teeth were exposed. 'I mean...what time do you expect them back?'
'Dunno. Around six,' Charley responded, smiling at the guy. A thought struck him, as he still had a few minutes to kill...and this guy at his doorstep was too much of a gem to let get away that easily. He didn't know if it were his appearance, his facial expressions, or his taste in wearing knee-high dress socks with shorts that intrigued him, but Charley felt like this guy Chip was more than meets the eye.
'Let me ask you something?'
'Sure, I guess...' Chip responded, seemingly uninterested and anxious to head to the next house to try his pitch once again.
'What's a guy like you doing going door-to-door selling tupperware, anyway? I mean...with the Internet, isn't that business kinda obsolete now?'
Chip responded with a sigh, and an underconfident shrug of his shoulders. 'I guess so. But sometimes it works...you don't even know! Besides, what do you do that's so much better?'
Charley laughed and nodded, placing his hand on Chip's shoulder.
'Ow!' Chip exclaimed, pulling his shoulder away from Cookie's hand.
'Sorry, pal. Well, truth be told...I'm a wrestler.'
'Really?' Chip's discomfort and lack of interest quickly turned into surprise and admiration in a mere mention of the word 'wrestler'. Funny how that has its effect on certain people. 'That's pretty sweet. You know, that's what I'm actually doing on weekends...training to become a pretty cool wrestler.'
'That so? How's it coming along?' Charley humored, examining the guy's frail frame and low threshold of pain.
'Well, things are getting pretty serious now. I mean, I've been going to the gym now for like, two weeks straight...so I guess you could say things are getting pretty serious,' Chip responded. Oddly enough, Charley noticed that the facial expression had still remained unchanged, and as he glanced at the laminated name tag on his collar, he noticed the same look smeared across his face.
'Why don't you come on in, and let's talk about it a little?' Charley responded. However, his dick had to catch him in mid-sentence and ask himself exactly what in the hell he was thinking...he could be drawn into conversation with this oddball for hours on end for his own personal amusement, and he had a domme session on Bonita Street in a little while. Even the potential for a good story would not stand in the way of the promise of dual-girl boot-licking. Luckily, the apparent nervousness of Chip prevailed before he could even correct his standing.
'I really can't. I've got a chat room meeting in an hour that I can't miss.'
Charley nodded, one-upping the situation. 'Yeah, it's probably not a good idea for me, either. I'm meeting someone in Boise here very shortly, and I need to be on my way.'
'Meeting someone?' Chip questioned. 'I thought you weren't from around here?'
'I'm not,' Charley responded. 'Met a girl...over the Internet...'
Chip shot Charley a very complacent and connective look as he shook his head knowingly.
'Tell you what, hang out for just a second, and I'll be right back. Seriously, don't go anywhere...'
Charley quickly dashed back inside, leaving Chip at the doorstep. While he waited, he began to slowly try to make a rip in the piece of sea foam green Tupperware that he was holding. After much straining and effort, he gave up, rendering it useless as he dropped it to the ground. Upon his return, Charley smiled and extended his hand to Chip, handing him a couple of tickets.
'For you and a friend, buddy. Look for me after the show, and maybe we can catch up on your future wrestling career then, huh?'
Chip's emotionless face suddenly faded to a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed glow of red. 'Gee, thanks! I'll probably be there, if I'm not too busy pumping iron. Here,' he remarked, picking up the bowl and handing it to Charley, 'you can have this.'
'Sweet.' Charley took the bowl from him and tossed it inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it shut with the key he had been lent from TJ.
'Well, I guess I'd better get going,' Chip beamed. 'See ya!'
'Pleasure to meet you, Chip. We'll see you on Cinco de Mayo?'
There was no response, as a display of an amazing vertical leap onto an awaiting Palomino in the driveway was all that Chip gave as he kicked the horse with the side of his shoe. The Tupperware salesman/future professional wrestler left only a shitty plastic bowl and a trail of dust.
'Fucking Idaho,' Charley laughed, as he walked to the awaiting Sebring...the carriage that would lead him to his relief.
'I love this place.'