DaRealness
I think very deeply
@RealAssanova Sorry bruh, you might wanna skip this post.....
http://www.dailystar.co.uk/just-jan...yself-for-cheating-with-my-driving-instructor
HAVING sex with my driving instructor is so good at the time but leaves me as guilty as sin afterwards.
I know I shouldn’t be having him on the back seat of his car but I can’t resist.
Towards the end of my lesson he invariably puts his hand on my knee and cheekily suggests a lesson in use of the horn.
I collapse into fits of giggles and I’m gone. We race to a secluded spot and make frantic love two or three times.
Two cigarettes later and we’re good to go home.
I burst through the front door and rush straight up to the shower claiming that I’m hot and sweaty after a tricky three-point turn.
But sometimes my boyfriend will insist I come into the front room to tell him how my lesson went.
This is when I start to feel like an absolute slut.
He’s forking out for my driving lessons yet I’m paying him back by cheating with the instructor – a bloke who lives near us.
My fella found him through a mate after we both agreed that booking a professional instructor would be the safer way to learn.
I have to confess that sex was the last thing on my mind the first time I climbed into his car and he just muttered: “Mirror, signal, manoeuvre.” But now I’m in too deep to change the routine.
My problem is that I love the sex while it’s happening, because I get caught up in the heat and the passion of the moment, but I quickly feel sordid afterwards.
How do I stop being such a tart?
http://www.dailystar.co.uk/just-jan...yself-for-cheating-with-my-driving-instructor
HAVING sex with my driving instructor is so good at the time but leaves me as guilty as sin afterwards.
I know I shouldn’t be having him on the back seat of his car but I can’t resist.
Towards the end of my lesson he invariably puts his hand on my knee and cheekily suggests a lesson in use of the horn.
I collapse into fits of giggles and I’m gone. We race to a secluded spot and make frantic love two or three times.
Two cigarettes later and we’re good to go home.
I burst through the front door and rush straight up to the shower claiming that I’m hot and sweaty after a tricky three-point turn.
But sometimes my boyfriend will insist I come into the front room to tell him how my lesson went.
This is when I start to feel like an absolute slut.
He’s forking out for my driving lessons yet I’m paying him back by cheating with the instructor – a bloke who lives near us.
My fella found him through a mate after we both agreed that booking a professional instructor would be the safer way to learn.
I have to confess that sex was the last thing on my mind the first time I climbed into his car and he just muttered: “Mirror, signal, manoeuvre.” But now I’m in too deep to change the routine.
My problem is that I love the sex while it’s happening, because I get caught up in the heat and the passion of the moment, but I quickly feel sordid afterwards.
How do I stop being such a tart?


See Rule 8 above
the irony.



