I had the taste for Latino.

And I'm not talking about the music.

Colombia won hands down.

I just needed to get into the groove.

Snorting a line off hard nipples and clits, might be just what the doctor ordered.

'Keep the money purse,' said Max.

He believed in me.

'That's a Kenny Rogers song, dope head.'

The slaps behind the head were getting less powerful.

'Everyone deserves a break,' said Max, who told me that there was a bikini contest in Medellin tonight.

We were only a five-hour flight from Miami and I really needed a change of wallpaper.

'If the master wishes it,' said Max,'this Jennie will oblige.'

And before you could say Jack Robinson, or Dixens, we were sitting in the front seats next to the catwalk eyeing off more silicon than at a glass factory, mostly located in the butts and tits. 

And the botox?

Luscious blow job lips, of course, I said to Max, to keep his enthusiasm going. He was paying for this gig after all. 

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