Pondering you, I think only of what I’m certain was the most wonderful cunt. The kind I will have spent hours enjoying to my mouth’s—and cock’s—delight. Would be nice to think of you with a soft and inviting bush, however. I can’t shake the thought of a clean shaven body and all the misguided effort it speaks of. Actions speak louder, do they not?
This is all the impetus behind every moment I spend with this girl whose cunt is sweet but wholly familiar after these many hours between her thighs. She doesn’t know how to talk dirty either. Lots of “baby” and “oh God, oh God.” Sure I’m making fun. Hey—D, if you read this, well, go to sleep, but remember that line I whispered? We’re beginning to taste like ash in each other’s mouths. It’s been on the tip of my tongue. No matter, of course. You swallow like I’m going to leave if you don’t. It’s a wonder I found you at all. Are you listening?
All this thought and nothing constructive learned other than ways to get you/you off. There is no lesson to speak of, except perhaps to appreciate one’s physical senses for more than the ability to see and type. Redundantly: For now life is defined by the desire for sex and the fact that women—certain women—are as available to me as rain drops from the sky.