The following tale is told from the perspective of one of my Gooner followers who recently had the chance to meet me, in a way. It is told exactly as it happened, but it is not something I advise others to do. Meeting the Queen of Whores in person felt like a wild fantasy that would never come true, especially in a place far from her homeland of Belfast. My four years of marriage have seen my wife increasingly sink into the position of a Porn Widow , as my hand pussy and the high-milage pussy of proud whores are both immensely superior to her boring twat.
This summer, my sex-starved wife decided to surprise me with a surprise trip to the Hungarian capital of Budapest. After a few days of shopping and sightseeing, I was bored out of my mind. When she told me she was going to a traditional thermal spa, I opted to hang out with a beer for a few hours. However, my plan was to browse my favourite hookup apps and see how many whores I could fuck before she got back.
After all, Budapest is a hotbed of harlots! What the actual fuck? She was listed as being within a kilometre of me. My heart raced, and my cynical mind told me it must be a fake profile.
But when I clicked on it, there she was in all of her glory with verifications to match. Better yet, she was listed as available today. When the three dots of her impending reply appeared, I could feel pre-cum dribbling from my dick. Catherine was, however, right beside her. I chose the closest time slot and was given an address. No money was involved, but the woman I spoke to bluntly told me to bring cigarettes and a bottle of the local palinka moonshine.
Downing my beer, I set off to finally meet the Queen of Whores. I felt high as I made my way there through the crowds of tourists and grinned to myself, knowing none of them knew the filthy destination that lay in store for me. Within twenty minutes, I was standing outside of a Communist-era apartment block and buzzed inside.
