You know the feeling: the lovely lady sitting across from you isn't going to be giving up her sweet poon tang, sure, but the smile in her eyes lets you know that if you play your cards right and pay for her dinner then maybe a handjob isn't completely out of the question. It's a no-brainer: you find your maxed-out credit card and use it to trade a fifteen dollar blue-plate special into a little manual relief for those aching blue balls throbbing beneath your jeans. Nothing says "Maybe someday I might fuck you!" like a nice dirty handjob in a dark deserted parking lot!
