FxF Pick me up, before you go-go (back to your place)

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FxF Pick me up, before you go-go (back to your place)

BanrionCailleach

Witch Queen
Welcome to the Sanctum 250 Posts! 250 Likes! Happy Birthday!!
Local time
Today 4:45 PM
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338
Age
38
Location
Tír na nÓg
Pronouns
she/her
tl;dr - I really want to have the experience of being picked up, at a bar or a social event, or wherever else humans meet each other these days. If you are (or will write) a woman, enby, or non-shitty man and you want to hit on and flirt with a beautiful woman please stop now and send me a message.

Why, hello there...

I'm an awesome giantess with hair like nothing you've ever seen. I'm one hell of an author and I seek to make you laugh as much as I can make you aroused. You can view my other, more general, prompt to see examples and other ins and outs. However, I don't think those aren't the ins and / or outs you're interested in talking about.

You see, I have a conundrum. I'm an adult, professional woman, and as such I have very little casual time in my life for frivolities. I can't remember the last time I was in a bar, and from my experience making friends is something that happens to other people. I blinked and somehow my 20's disappeared (taking most of my 30's with them) without once giving a stranger my panties or locking myself in a public restroom to make out. I've never felt interested eyes on me, or received a gentle, probing complement seeking hints as to my sexuality or availability. I have never been the subject of amorous intent, good or bad.

Put simply, I've never been hit on.

I have led a sheltered, boring life of work and lonely hobbies. I put too much stock in society's silly efforts to ignore female sexuality. I spent too much time on a career that doesn't do much for me other than pay for my massive Lego and Board Game habits.

So, I am hereby humbly requesting partners to help me experience - at least in fantasy - this part of my life that I ignored for too long. I want to make up for lost time.

I lean over the bar, nodding to the bartender for a refill. They take my glass, and I rest on my elbows on the bar as I wait. One of the night's bands has finished playing, so the whole place is full of that strange non-quiet of a moderate crowd waiting out the span between performances. The band I was here to see already finished their set, so I only have a casual interest in the rest. At this point, I'm just here for the ambiance - and the people.

I know it's mutual. My wild, curly, auburn hair cascades down past my shoulder to the right side of my head, exposing the close-cropped hair over my left ear. My dress falls to just above my knees, leaving most of my incredibly long legs and tight spiderweb tights exposed. A three-inch-long knife (just for show) hangs from my left ear and a small brass canister (also just for show) hangs down to my subtle cleavage (definitely not just for show) from a thick chain around my neck. My black Doc Martins don't have much of a heel, but I still seem to tower over everyone. I'm a tempting goddess, for sure.

Now why am I still paying for my own drinks?
 
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