Fame, wealth, and charisma have made Jack Nicholson the heartbreaker of 2,000 women. At the age of 70, and looking every bit of it, he spends his leisure time in boats with a tumbler in one hand and a bevy of young women draped around him like his royal concubines. This means Jack is The Man.
I’ve got the biggest tits here.
I can already hear the female chorus of unctuous naysayers. “Oh, I would *never* sleep with him. He’s gross!” “Fame and money don’t matter to me. It’s the man inside that counts.” “If Jack Nicholson came onto me I’d turn him down.”
You don’t know how you’d act in the company of a major male celebrity, but I can guarantee you it wouldn’t be anything like you say you’d act from the comfort of your bedroom where there is no chance of ever meeting Nicholson. Virtue is easy when you have no other choice.
A face-to-face meeting between Jack and a good girl who scoffed at the idea that she would submit to his charms would be a sight to behold as she gradually abandoned every one of her principles.
First, her heart would race. But she’d try to remain calm and aloof. After all, she’s not like those starfucking sluts. Then, Jack would speak. And it would sound just like all those movies she watched with him in it. He might even drop a quote or two. *sqeal*! Oh boy, her composure is starting to crack. Maybe Jack might lasciviously angle his body so that his hot Oscar-winning breath blows across her neck and his belly brushes her arm. He does this with his trademark sunglasses reflecting the light and his shit-eating joker grin exuding total unstoppable confidence. She no longer notices his belly and man boobs. Her loins feel like a rainforest.
She looks around and something she does notice is how many beautiful women are languidly caressing Jack’s body, laughing at his every word, blatantly aroused to the point of orgiastic explosion. For some inexplicable reason, noticing this turns her on even more. Parrots and monkeys are swinging through her snatch. Jack pats his lap. No words exchanged; she walks over and sits in it. He smells like drunken old man, but all she can think of is how attractive his eyes are when he squints from the sun. Minutes later, in the cabin, Jack’s wang is driven in to the hilt. Heeeere’s little johnny!
A woman’s principles are like an impressionistic painting — beautiful to contemplate from a distance but all over the place once you get up close.