If I fucked any girl who asked, my dick would have long ago eroded. Or burst into flames. And I definitely have standards, which both include and transcend appearance. If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna work for it harder than you’ve worked for most anything in your life.
On the other hand, failure to measure up need not leave you out in the cold. There are awkward acolytes who literally say prayers to me every night, who devote their hearts to me, knowing well that they’ll never be good enough. And as long as they behave, I’m happy to let them adore me until the day I find a use for them.
In short, there’s a place within the tent for all who will fall to their knees… it’s just that some of those places are arrayed at my feet and around the pulpit, while some are in the last last row at the back, where the hymnals are missing half the pages and someone has scratched “ME + MR. B = LUV” into the uncomfortable wooden pews.