My ATF GFE
She's not really my escort, cause we don't go anywhere
but she's always done up; face, nails and hair.
She's not my sugar baby cause she's not that sweet
but I love dining at her Y, cause a fellow's gotta eat.
She's not really a whore, though she might wear the uniform.
She's sexually unique, kinda like a unicorn.
She's not my courtesan. She despises court.
She's rather be in the mall. She says "shopping is a sport."
She's not my loose woman, her body is tight.
Her flesh is a sight. She f*cks me like a fleshlight.
She doesn't want or need reviews. She says "that's quite alright."
Less writing for me. More afternoon delight.
She's not my lady of the evening cause we play in the day.
She has feelings for me. I don't care what you say.
It's sort of role play, it's kinda make-believe.
She's not my kept woman cause I pay her to leave.
She's got baby cakes, crumpets,
junk in her trunk, can't trump it.
No, she's not a strumpet,
but she blows me like a trumpet.
She's not exactly my lover cause we aren't in love
but she's the provider I'm always thinking of.
She always smells fresh like Zest or Dove
and her fit firm body always fits me like a glove.
She's not my call girl cause we mostly text.
She's not my best friend cause it's mostly about sex.
She's not my concubine, she doesn't live with me.
She's my certified ATF GFE.
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