it's one thing bragging about your hardware,
but quiet another bragging about
your handiwork -
i always had *** with an air of suspicion -
i was always keen to spot the actress
enthralled in Onomatopoeia -
but only after seeing the agonised
look of a ********** post-orgasm that
any cock-vanity that was there dissolved
like something in an acid bath...
her soft howl expressing pain -
getting pleasured on the job...
that's what has to be celebrated about
prostitution - the clarity of the sterility
membrane -
you're going to have to pay for
something, in the end,
might as well skip the chit-chat,
and stop pretending that there's a "thrill
of the chase"...
the type of no ******** *** with all
its pristine carnality is what's
authenticity looks like;
surprising, eh? finding yourself demeaning
a ********** salting a deep rupture of flesh,
the sort of wound that aches the most -
giving pleasure -
no six pack, no **** o 9 inch long -
you realise something at the end of it:
they don't actually know what they want,
i've lost a need for a jane austen take on things,
pride & prejudice is dead,
all that's left is ridicule & contempt...
and the crown of english humour:
sarcasm...
i'm still sure of the fact that
it ought to be the visage of mary shelley
on the fiver banknote...
a very fine but nonetheless
the rarest kind of female beauty -
intellect like a bull-terrier's jaw grip.
god, why did she have to give the best
blow just before we broke up?
mind you, the strangest pleasure bound
to a pain, as the eldest of the **** ****** at it
as if skinning it, at the same time.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
it's one thing bragging about your hardware,
but quiet another bragging about
your handiwork -
i always had *** with an air of suspicion -
i was always keen to spot the actress
enthralled in Onomatopoeia -
but only after seeing the agonised
look of a ********** post-orgasm that
any cock-vanity that was there dissolved
like something in an acid bath...
her soft howl expressing pain -
getting pleasured on the job...
that's what has to be celebrated about
prostitution - the clarity of the sterility
membrane -
you're going to have to pay for
something, in the end,
might as well skip the chit-chat,
and stop pretending that there's a "thrill
of the chase"...
the type of no ******** *** with all
its pristine carnality is what's
authenticity looks like;
surprising, eh? finding yourself demeaning
a ********** salting a deep rupture of flesh,
the sort of wound that aches the most -
giving pleasure -
no six pack, no **** o 9 inch long -
you realise something at the end of it:
they don't actually know what they want,
i've lost a need for a jane austen take on things,
pride & prejudice is dead,
all that's left is ridicule & contempt...
and the crown of english humour:
sarcasm...
i'm still sure of the fact that
it ought to be the visage of mary shelley
on the fiver banknote...
a very fine but nonetheless
the rarest kind of female beauty -
intellect like a bull-terrier's jaw grip.
god, why did she have to give the best
blow just before we broke up?
mind you, the strangest pleasure bound
to a pain, as the eldest of the **** ****** at it
as if skinning it, at the same time.