I drove back to LA from San Diego Monday morning for my last “pay-date” with WR. Things were awkward after I left fingernail imprints on his balls and messed up his back in a fit of angry sex Friday night. So I wasn’t sure what to expect for our last tryst, or what the tone would be, or if he would be able smell that blonde-virgin i slammed Saturday night (men are animals after all).

WR came to the hotel a little skittish. He gave me a Tiffany silver chain bracelet with a heart. You know, that crap every 13 year old girl from Long Island gets before her Bahtmitzvah. Hi, what the fuck? Do I look like a barely pubescent JAP? I’m sure his bitch girlfriend gets gold and rocks. I am smelting that shit down as soon as I get home.

Long story short, I let him know I was calling the shots. I told him he could bend me over the balcony off my room until I got tired, and then we could fuck in the bed. He complied. I bit his nipples, hard. He liked it. I allowed him to sleep with his head nuzzled between my tits. When I awoke, WR was gone and a check filled his place…

I don’t think WR will offer a cross the country money-fuck again, but if he does, I won’t do it. I’m no longer an emotionally cut-off teen-hooker. Sugar Nell’s all grown-up, and won’t take orders from cunts, which makes for a pretty poor prostitute, but an excellent bar slut and back-alley bang.

I am too tired from sliding up and down several cocks across Southern California to connect these pics of Elizabeth Berkeley (Showgirls) to the end of my affair with old trick WR. But here she is recently in a Bikini, looking like an Amazon. She’s got back, and by the time you finish reading this post, I will be back in NY ready again to choose who I fuck and how I fuck them, and all you douches need to do is water me with drinks.

Obediently yours,
Sugar Nell (ex-hooker, friend of Jesus)

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