I don’t get on well with social media, may be because I’m unsociable. I customize the interface to suit my tastes, that is I turn almost everything off, but both Facebook and Twitter think I must have made a mistake and set the preferences back to near default every other week. Cunts! I don’t want what other people think is a top story headlining my feeds, or, for fucks sake, notification of who has won an award in a game. I’m a big boy, I can decide for myself what is important so leave my settings alone.
Joni Mitchell. Talk To Me. 1977. Till I pissed a tequila anaconda the full length of the parking lot. One for the water sport enthusiasts methinks.
When snapping a young lady it’s in your best interests to build some kind of rapport or you will end up with a shedload of shit photos. I am not a social animal but thankfully most models are happy chatty creatures who are very easy to get along with so I can gossip away talking any old bullshit to hide my introversion. When seeking out something different for the web site I have on occasions booked models who are not my normal cup of tea. Nowadays In these situations I find it difficult to hide that I would much prefer the company of a bog standard skinny blonde to a high profile fetish queen and the session goes downhill rapidly when I let the fact slip. Here’s a case in point. There are only two reasons why I booked this model if you get my drift.