Cyril Locsin is some babe who lived near my place at one point in time, before moving away on her quest to being some kind of hot model. I don’t think I’ve ever met her…reminding me of another lost opportunity…one in which I could have become her best friend ever, helping her take over the world, carrying her purse to gigs, doing whatever it took to get her trust so that I could make my move to touch her breast tenderly while she’s had one too many drinks.
I could have written her love songs or love poems, gazed in her eyes, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. We could have gotten matching tattoos and held hands in the rain. We could have had a family, two adorable kids, and spent the rest of our lives happily together…our love eternal.
But too late for that now—I don’t know much about her, other than that she’s got potential to be fucking famous…and here she is in FHM, topless, and even though she’s not showing any labia, I still like looking at babes half-naked…especially babes I could potentially run into on the street one day when she’s visiting her old digs…giving me the opportunity to have her sign my penis. We’re all allowed to have dreams people…
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