I would have loved to fuck the usual supsects—Tate McRae especially. But I told myself an hour with Gen Z hot shouldn’t be weighted more than five or more hours with 2000s beauties. Gen Z ruled the short-attention edits and Instagram bubble butts, but I was sure the glossy magazine spreads had their value, so I went all in on maximizing time-on-skin.
The clip of her in Don Juan plays across my mind’s eye. The jump cuts from club to taxi to the bedroom to porn’s glow to the bedroom to porn’s glow to the—
A 2000s body, lithe, slim. Not the algorithmic booty that calls for sculpted glutes and thighs buoyed by 1 g/lb protein. Her face, unlike the neotonous features of Gen Z tiktokers—OnlyFans adjacent: their career to stimulate the male evolutionary impulse. Her beauty, a graft from Italian fashion onto girl-next-door approchiability. Once common but not anymore, not on social media.
I take her in the carousel ride of positions Hollywood Don Juan did. Missionary/Blowjob/Cunnilingus/Head-Richocheting Missionary. Her silver club dress draped over a cheap apartment chair.
TODO: Describe Italia Ricci’s face and body better as well as her facial expressions.
From Google Images, Lauren Conrad’s face rarely far from a smile.
In the bedroom, straw-blonde hair straight, she holds my hand and escorts me from the bed on which Italia Ricci lays. Her face beaming with a comforting smile. She was not my favorite. In another place, she would have been a good suburban wife. Christian, tax-payer. Normal.
But when I thought about it, her good-nature caught in this seedy room, I pulled her closer to me registering the sudden shock on her face—her mouth drawn in an open-o exclamation, eyebrows raised. I spun her around onto the bed where Italia was. Italia awakening from her dazed stupor lazily clasped Lauren’s angular jaw and hushed her thin lips with a finger. Italia then shifted her body weight from reclined repose to plant a kiss on Lauren’s face and then surfacing from mouth-to-mouth, her naked form crawled and straddled Lauren who was clothed in a summer dress that ran rectangle to her plank-board form. Leaving her to Italia, I walked away.
12 Rooms | 12 Hours | 48 Women
I would have loved to fuck the usual supsects—Tate McRae especially. But I told myself an hour with Gen Z hot shouldn’t be weighted more than five or more hours with 2000s beauties. Gen Z ruled the short-attention edits and Instagram bubble butts, but I was sure the glossy magazine spreads had their value, so I went all in on maximizing time-on-skin.
Rooms #1 to #6
Room #10 <- for Kaia Gerber
Room #7 <- for Holland Roden
Room #9 <- for Fergie
Room #12 <- for Samantha Hoopes
Room #14 <- for Pom Klementieff
Room #11 <- for Lena Headey
Later on, I will do a more in-depth write-up.
Italia Ricci
The clip of her in Don Juan plays across my mind’s eye. The jump cuts from club to taxi to the bedroom to porn’s glow to the bedroom to porn’s glow to the—
A 2000s body, lithe, slim. Not the algorithmic booty that calls for sculpted glutes and thighs buoyed by 1 g/lb protein. Her face, unlike the neotonous features of Gen Z tiktokers—OnlyFans adjacent: their career to stimulate the male evolutionary impulse. Her beauty, a graft from Italian fashion onto girl-next-door approchiability. Once common but not anymore, not on social media.
I take her in the carousel ride of positions Hollywood Don Juan did. Missionary/Blowjob/Cunnilingus/Head-Richocheting Missionary. Her silver club dress draped over a cheap apartment chair.
TODO: Describe Italia Ricci’s face and body better as well as her facial expressions.
Lauren Conrad
From Google Images, Lauren Conrad’s face rarely far from a smile.
In the bedroom, straw-blonde hair straight, she holds my hand and escorts me from the bed on which Italia Ricci lays. Her face beaming with a comforting smile. She was not my favorite. In another place, she would have been a good suburban wife. Christian, tax-payer. Normal.
But when I thought about it, her good-nature caught in this seedy room, I pulled her closer to me registering the sudden shock on her face—her mouth drawn in an open-o exclamation, eyebrows raised. I spun her around onto the bed where Italia was. Italia awakening from her dazed stupor lazily clasped Lauren’s angular jaw and hushed her thin lips with a finger. Italia then shifted her body weight from reclined repose to plant a kiss on Lauren’s face and then surfacing from mouth-to-mouth, her naked form crawled and straddled Lauren who was clothed in a summer dress that ran rectangle to her plank-board form. Leaving her to Italia, I walked away.