Last week I went to a food festival. Prior to attending I had already planned to purchase some delicious sex toy photography props – and knew the exact delicacy I desired. I slipped into one of my bright flowing summer dresses and proceeded to walk to the festival. As I galloped towards my destination, a few gentlemen stop their vehicles and offered me a lift to the shows grounds. Off course I refused, not just because of the dangers of getting into a strangers car, but because I was happily in my own little world. As I trekked along I was planning out my next sex toy photography session.
I finally arrived at the grounds. Ducking under the gazebos, tasting tongue tingling condiments, I hopped from stall to stall. I eventually found the stall selling the props I required. I scooped up a massive bag containing a mixture of vibrant chillies and handed the cashier my money with a fiery grin upon my face.
Whilst on my journey I also came across a bookshop. I decided to check it out, partly because its cold stone chamber made a nice refuge from the scorching heat. I found a lovely hardback copy of Fanny Hill and a book on Havelock Ellis. I purchased both books and found a near by tree to sit under whilst I ate some macaroons and fudge. As I sat there a gentleman asked whether he could share my branch, I nodded, and carried on reading my books.
A storm was slowly brewing so I slipped away from the festival. Speedily racing through the woodlands and livestock fields between the show and my home. As soon as I stepped through the door, I slipped my dress off, grabbed a bowl, chillies, sex toy, and camera.