Hey there, everyone! This is my first submission, and although I expect it to be a little rough around the edges, I did my best to make things nice and smooth for you. It's got a little bit of everything- some world-building, some casual sex, and a giant ego for the story to wrap around!
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It's 1992. It's been 1992 for the past 30 years. Clinton's just been elected president, Nirvana's on the radio, and we've kind of gotten used to it. Not to blow your mind, but a gallon of gas costs a dollar and five cents.
I should probably take a step back and explain- the world I live in is more or less exactly like yours. The only difference is that we all decided- the whole planet, in the early nineties- that we were going to push pause. The calendar doesn't go forward until we fix ourselves and fix the planet. No big wackadoo projects to go to different planets while our own is broken. It was a little bit of a miracle, but we got everyone onboard.
Now, time has moved forward, but we're just not willing to admit that it's 1993 until we're sure we've done all we can. The ozone layer's fixed, only about one in ten cars actually uses that cheap gas I mentioned, we've got something close to world peace, and there's no nukes anywhere. We broke 'em down. Pushed the hand on the doomsday clock way back.
Maybe most importantly of all, we figured out each other in the process of doing this. Gender's more interpretive here in 1992 than it probably was in the one you remember. The way we express ourselves through sex and fashion is, well, easy-breezy-beautiful, Covergirl. People are who they want to be, there's no barrier to looking, sounding, acting like exactly who you really are.
A few people decided they wanted to look like celebrities, or monsters. You know what happened? Most of them got bored and went back to being themselves. Except for the furries, god bless 'em. They're off having fun doing whatever.
As for me, sure, I had some work done! We should probably talk about me, right? Here, take my card.
So, I'm Diane Greenbriar, and I work here in San Francisco as a personal consultant. Not necessarily a therapist, though I've been known to lend a shoulder to cry on from time to time- more of a life coach. I've got my shit together, so why not help you with yours?
Also, and maybe most importantly, I've got a killer bod. My favorite thing about every morning is waking up, tossing aside my silk sheets, and getting in some stretches in front of my full-length mirror. Let's face it, I'm lucky! Even without the little tune-ups I've had! Fluffy red hair that spills just past my smooth, freckly shoulders, a winning smile, bright, hazel eyes...
Am I full of myself? Yes. Am I going to keep waxing poetic about myself? Oh, honey, you know it.
Supposing you can pull your starry eyes away from my smiling face, you can take a good long look at the most spectacular breasts this side of Daly City. I don't wanna oversell myself, but these...
more-or-less
natural H-cups turn heads, and I like it that way. Heck, they even turn my head, when I set my hands on my lower back, get in a good stretch, and just ogle myself. Freckles abound, surrounding perfect little nips that always need the good company of a ladyfriend's mouth.
I don't know about you, but after a little ogling, I feel inspired. To do some more more ogling. So let's make our way down together. Smoothly we drift, across a hard-fought hourglass waist, over my soft little belly, around my strong, thrice-a-week-on-the-treadmill hips and bouncy bubble butt... to my little troublemaker. Always rolling up my skirts or ripping my pantyhose, without any regard for my feelings at all!
Shall we get acquainted? This cock of mine, she's a work of art. Dead soft, not a care in the world, she keeps my thighs company with a positively
meaty
nine inches. Much to the delight of everyone who's ever taken me to the beach, I'm much more of a shower than a grower- ahah, and I do very much like to show her off. Treat me to a few kisses, a few sweet nothings whispered across my ear, and you'll get to meet all of her- eleven inches long, nearly eight around- have you held a can of Coke lately? She's a lot like holding two of those end to end, plus a little extra.
Let's assume you're not already on your knees with your mouth wide open, just so we can appreciate me a little more. I'm a whole lot of leg in not a lot of woman- at 5'4" they've simply got no right being this... extravagant, this elegant- dare I say, like the eternal amateur in the world of erotica- this shapely? Eat your heart out, Jane Fonda. I'll get my leg warmers out of storage just to prove it.
In short, I'm the whole package. Stacked, packing, well-dressed and positively brimming with charm. Not that I'd ever leverage that to my advantage, I just like to have fun!
