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My name is Rick Scofield. I'm a normal kind of guy with normal desires. My needs are simple and my luxuries few. It was not like this in my youth. Puberty for me occurred during the 1960's also known as the Age of Aquarius and the age of the sexual revolution. They never knocked on my door once. I was what you'd call a late bloomer in large part due to a painful shyness around women. When I finally broke through my shyness I discovered I had another problem. If I found a young lovely interested in a relationship hot fucking girls me it didn't last long. It wasn't that I treated them badly or because I had bad breath or something like that. I was, and still am, hairy. The only parts of my body without hair are the palms of my hands, the soles of my feet and the cheeks of my fanny. As soon as a relationship got to the touchy-feely stage things would turn very chilly. When my lovely companions would see or feel the mat of fur covering my chest and stomach it hot ebony girls all over.
This situation had me very confused. I had read all the men's magazines and how to books so that I wouldn't be a total klutz. According to those "experts" there were women out there who adored a man with a hairy chest, there were even supposed to be a few driven so wild they would practically fuck a guy with hair on his chest. I can assure you my virtue was never in danger.
This all changed the winter of my twenty-forth year. I found I had a love of cooking why I don't know. When I graduated high school I tried to enlist to become a cook. The military said I had a Rheumatic heart and disqualified me. I worked full time at a job I hated and enrolled in a school of culinary arts at fucking hot girls to learn cooking and restaurant management. | |