Most of the time, I enjoy my life as a baker with beefy forearms and perfect teeth in this small hamlet in Western Massachusetts. I treasure simple pleasures like lifting heavy bags of flour and spending quality time with my border collie who adores and respects me in a way that makes it obvious I’m a good man. But with that said, every holiday season comes with a fresh influx of city slicker career women who don’t seem to understand smalltown life or the true meaning of Christmas, and this year, I just don’t have enough seed within me to fuck all you corporate lawyer ladies who roll into town looking to learn the true meaning of Christmas.
I’m sorry, but I’m just one hunky, sweater-wearing man.
In this town, we have what some might call an old-fashioned way of doing things. We know our neighbors’ names. We stop to say hello or help carry a paper bag of groceries inside. And normally, these quaint practices are closer to an annoyance to the over-worked brunettes who arrive with their blowouts and, for some reason, BlackBerrys to pass the holiday season. And that’s fine, because I can make passionate and worldview-altering love to one jaded hottie, but this year there’s like a dozen of you, and you have absolutely sucked me dry. For real, I’m ejaculating dust at this point.
For years and years, I’ve felt fulfilled working in my bakery 11.5 months a year, then spending two weeks having whirlwind romances and spreading cheer like Santa, but instead of giving children gifts, I give modern women my thick, viscous loads. Much like Santa, my politics never come up. However, now I feel I’ve reached a breaking point. Can I just finger you? Or we can dry hump or something? I’m seriously afraid you’re going to leave me sterile.
I understand that there are a lot of single millennial women who need a hot baker to cum inside of them in order to gain the confidence to stand up to their bosses and/or judgmental sisters, but at this point I can’t even decorate cinnamon rolls without giving you perverts all sorts of ideas, and I just need a fucking break.
Seriously, my penis hurts.
So to all you workaholic, stressed out attorneys, come by the bakery! I’ll give you a scone, but please don’t expect a cream pie, because I am simply out of stock. Happy holidays!
