In walked a tall dark haired man, dressed in a black suit. He seemed barely out of his teens, about twenty. He didn't seem to be packing any muscle on...him though his thin frame didn't make him anymore safe to face. He held to wakizashi in his hand, the short samurai blades gleaming in the light of the well lit office, their tips dripping blood all over the carpet."Who the hell are you?" Real demanded as he took out a mini pistol from his picket and fired at the unknown man, who simply deflected. First that strange invitation for friendship, without a preceding message.Often not a good sign. Usually I refuse after a quick peek at the profile.Also the nick was not to my likes. At second look I noticed what I do like.Like for instance the looks of the lady involved and her need for my massage.By massage I mean my 'massage extraordinaire', like in my short sexy stories,about the belly dancer who landed on my massage table with its special straps.By some sexy messaging I soon know what she. More

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