Partly Cloudy, 64°
My, my. You're quite the lass, are you not? You're the sort of wench with whom I'd fancy a walk through a wondrous arboretum, followed by a candlelit dinner and a venture to a streetside bathroom where you can manually stimulate my phallus until I ejaculate on your dress.
But enough formality. You know, these days, a lot of men have lost sight of what matters when dealing with the fairer sex. I, however, know what will please you: a retreat to a French villa, where I shall feed you chocolate-covered strawberries by hand. A picnic on a secluded island, just the two of us and a bottle of champagne. A luxurious night on the town, transported by my horse-drawn carriage. These ventures all require the perfect ending, though, and I know just the thing: you giving me a handy in the storage closet of a miniature golf course.
See, I've been living the bachelor's life for a while now, and I feel that something is missing. I need someone like you, someone who can satisfy me both emotionally and tug-in-a-dank-basemently. I know that it isn't easy being a woman in this cruelly fast-paced modern American culture, but I promise that if you come away with me, you will relax in a way you previously thought impossible.
I apologize if my enthusiasm so early in our relationship is off-putting. I just find you - how shall I say it - intoxicating, even exotic. I know how rare it is to find a beauty like you, a woman who possesses both an eye for style and strong forearm muscles. Believe me, you'll be needing both where we're headed. It would be ungentlemanly of me to reveal where exactly that is, but I'll give you a hint: it's the spot where my dear father, the deceased Baron, proposed to my mother.
So, um, the alley behind Lowe's.
People don't understand class these days. Your average twenty-something probably finds a flashy sports car classy. I, on the other hand, know that there's more to class than ostentation. Showiness is nothing without the balancing force of you pumping my semi-erect member with the desperate fervor of a milkmaid on a farm facing foreclosure.
Join me in climbing mountains, diving from towering cliffs, lazing in hot springs, jerking - what's that? You're leaving? Well, please allow me to hold the door for you. And to press your hand to my genitals.
And to think they say chivalry is dead.
