No, you don’t. If you actually wanted any of that, you’d have messaged me directly.
All you really wanted was the tiny thrill of telling the truth about yourself to someone who accepts your truth, someone who isn’t going to judge you for being a sexual fuck-up.
Get back to me when you’re bored with tiny thrills.
mindless-little-pet-deactivated:
Your* you* I don’t understand why it is so hard to spell words out.
I’m a little unclear on the purpose of the capital D in dick, as well. Does he also kiss with his Lips, slap with his Hand, and fart with his Ass?
For that matter, why stop with nouns?
“Behold, wench, the Tumescent Grandeur of My Dick as I Shove It into your holes with Herculean Vigor.”
Yeah, that’s the good stuff…
Good… the world needs more girl-monsters.
You’re probably the first person to ever cite my writing as a calming influence in her life; I like it.
I mean, sure it’s fun, being the guy who frustrates and hurts you while you rub your clit in desperation, but I don’t mind simply being the sexual Xanax that helps you find your happy place.
As long as you don’t mind what I do with your body while you’re gone.
The icing on the cake of this scene is the UTI she’s gonna develop from sitting on that toilet.
I’ve got a surprising (to me) number of lesbian followers at this point, and I find them enchanting. All that confusion and shame stirring up their cunts, overwhelming what is no doubt a hard-won sexual identity… it’s delicious.
Just think about what they’re really doing, as they fervently hump their rubber cocks and choke themselves in the dark, dreaming about a hurtful man invading their digestive tracts from one end or the other. When a straight feminist secretly indulges such cravings, she’s simply betraying an ideal in pursuit of her dark, selfish needs; when a lesbian does it, she’s also confirming for herself that every homophobic, misogynistic moron who ever figured that she just needed a man to slap her straight was right about her all along.
That’s an impressive level of mindfuckery, if you ask me. Bless their twisted little hearts.
To all the broken girls, desperate housewives, gung-ho masochists, stoner sex freaks, prancing pansies, and conflicted dykes who follow me:
I love ya all. Thanks for being awesome.
I love her hysterically pointless, princessy foot-stomping. It’s like all the adorable, pathetic futility of being a cunt, refined to one flailing, ridiculous motion.
Sure… it’s as important as any other act of kindness or responsibility in a relationship.
Poor widdle girl wif her sad widdle face. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before following strange men home at night.
Eh, who are we kidding? You’d rather live with regret than one more empty night alone. Even if he’s hurting you, at least that means he knows you’re alive, right?
