A cautionary tale about whipped cream

Immediately after I returned from the holidays, Maestro and I dropped by to see Jolene for a quick visit. Hahaha – of course it wasn’t a quick visit. It never it with that lovely lady! You’ll have to wait to read the full story about that night here, but I learned one very valuable lesson from that night.

I must avoid whipped cream! Even the smallest little bit – just a couple of mouthfuls will make me spend a couple of hours in the toilet with my stomach reading me the riot act. Listen, I know I’m lactose intolerant. I avoid brie and other fatty and creamy cheese. And ice cream. I take pills to help me digest every time Maestro makes his delicious chicken fettucine alfredo for me. I’ve spent enough painful hours on the toilet to know not to mess with dairy.

So why did I lose my mind and forget at Jolene’s? Why oh why? I have no idea. All I know is that I got caught up in the excitement. It was something totally different. My mind was swirling in desire from giving Maestro a blowjob with Jolene, that as soon as she jumped up to get the bottle of whipped cream, the warning lights in the brain didn’t go off. I went all in – it was a sweet, sticky, creamy orgy of our tongues and Maestro’s cock. I couldn’t get enough of our creamy lips on his cock together – sucking, licking, kissing, swallowing.

All was well for about 30 minutes … and then my stomach rumbled. Again and again. It was that awful familiar intestines-in-a-knot feeling. Fortunately that wasn’t the end of the night. I missed out on some of the action but wasn’t down for the rest of the night. But even still, I will never consume whipped cream during a blowjob. Repeat … I will never consume whipped cream during a blowjob. (Unless of course, I remember to take those damn digestive pills!)