Lost boys and bad behavior

Last night was one of those nights at Rudolfa where the details of what had happened only became clear in the morning and the slow, turgid afternoon.

I had a hard time believing what I saw and felt in my mind.

Did I really suck the big, beautiful brown dick of that average-looking gypsy guy with the awful mullet? In the toilet? Twice? And then go back out into the room and tongue Milan, the skinhead gypsy . . .

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