Greetings, pussy pals, it's Charlie O'Neal, your standard bearer for ordinary horndogs. Well, my EFR (earned fuck ratio) is on the rise, thanks, most recently, to the lovely Brook (28, 5'8", 128 pounds). I get the O'Neal-mobile washed every two weeks, and three times in a row, Brook and I were the only ones in the customer lounge. Like me, Brook, a restaurant hostess, knows that late in the afternoon, soccer moms are busy driving their little bastards around, seniors are hitting early bird deals at restaurants and sales reps are actually working.
Our third get-together in the customer lounge was longer than usual as a typical LA power cut stranded our cars in the middle of the washing line. The manager gave us free cokes and donuts to keep us happy, and we settled down to wait it out. We already knew a bit about each other, and this time our talk turned to our jobs. Brook's was easily dismissed. "It's a job and it pays okay, so I'm not bitching," she said. She was intrigued about my two lines of work that enabled me to be out and about in the afternoon.