bill-swift - September 18, 2013
You know me, I'm not a bragger. I'm pretty in touch with the various strengths and deficits I possess. But if I may give myself a little credit, I know a thing or two about wedgies and how to remove them. I've been doing that my entire life. Now I realize that all my training has simply been leading up to the ability to step in and help ridiculously hot women with crack-stuck bikini bottoms extricate themselves from potentially embarrassing situations.
I envision myself working fast, swiftly but calmly and quietly, setting up some kind of perimeter, maybe some of those Cuidado Piso Mojado cones, firing off a frisbee into a young child nearby to create a distraction, then I'd move in with my deft hands and skilled fingers, reaching toward the glorious killer tush of Claudia Romani, grasping the wet Lycra based bottoms, snatching them betwixt my thumb and forefinger and gently tugging the material from the cleft and out into the rumpal area. The whole process would take nary a second, but create a lifetime of memories. And all I'd ask in return from Claudia is a gentle kiss. No, not there. There. My work here is done. Enjoy.