You’ll be struggling to pick up your glass with your stumps when she comes up behind you and lifts it for you, bringing it to your lips. You’ll sip deeply from it and then nod at her as she brings it back down to the bar top for you.
“Thanks,” you’ll say.
She’ll wink at you and smile. “Looks like you’ve got a few stories,” she’ll say, pointing at your stumps. You’ll shrug and smirk.
“Wolverine tamer. Comes with the work.”
She’ll learn over the bar at you, cleavage glaring down at you. You’ll suddenly realize, just as you do every time you’re in this situation, that this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Her tongue will dart out from behind her pearly whites and lick around her lips before eventually lolling back down into her drink. After she takes a swig, a long powerful one, she’ll exhale and speak.
“My daddy was a wolverine tamer,” she’ll murmur. “Always liked the kind.”
You’ll raise your stump to show that you want the check and then have the bartender sign your name for you. Then you’ll rush the little lady out of the bar and into the parking lot, where the two of you will enter the car you own that uses your eye movement to help you drive (you get into a lot of accidents). Then you’ll drive fast as you can back to your apartment, where she’ll strap in and ride on your giant, wolverine scratched cock for the rest of the night.
Sometimes it’s good to be a wolverine tamer who attracts emotionally damaged women. Sometimes.
Congratulations Wolverine Tamer!
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