Play Time Is Over, Banker Girl

by Steve Edder

Yeah, I got the message, Banker Girl. "Have a nice weekend" indeed. I know what you're *really* saying - let's you and me have a nice weekend together in a hotel room with nothing but a hot tub, two or three bottles of champagne, some baby oil and a pecker-shaped loofah sponge.

Play time is over, Baby - we need to get this thing on. We won't be this hot forever - it's time to make it happen. You're totally hot for me and I'm hip to that - we both know you don't smile and say "Have a nice weekend" like that to every bank customer. Remember Halloween, Sweet Thing? I came into the bank in my Darth Vader outfit. Before I left, you smiled and said "Have a nice afternoon" in that sexy-sly way you always do, because you knew it was me under that Vader mask. That's how in synch we are, Baby.

Oh hell yeah. Mmmmm - I'm getting hot just thinking about it. You. Me. On a tropical beach... naked. We'd be so into each other, we wouldn't even care how much sand got gummed up in our sweaty butt cracks.

You know you want it even more than I do. C'mon... let's do this! Grab a few stacks of bills on your way out of work and meet me at the Hilton downtown. We'll get so hot and freaky for days on end that we'll only stop for Gatorade and Power Bars so we could go at it again. And if you *really* want to get freaky, I'll invite that cute barrista chick at the Third Avenue Starbucks with the black nail polish to join us for an epic three-day three-way. I know she'd be down. She can't get enough of my smokin' man-stuff - why else would she remember my half-caff soy latte each and every morning? Yeah, Baby, she knows how I like it and that's just how she wants to give it to me!