AT THE POINT WHERE EVERYONE SPEAKS IN HALF JOKES.

The perpetual boner that is the male underthing is a difficult item to understand, especially in the midst of subtle depression. Desire is as desire does. It most definately needs to go unspoken, but showered in glossy mentionings of every female body that passes, we utter our agreement to ourselves with the choices God of Lordness has made.

The vagina? Picture perfect.

The breasts? No complaints.

The ass? Brilliant.

I do prefer the darkened pancake nipple myself, those found best in vintage magazines and pubic hair'd porno of the '50s & '60s, but that is simply the preference of a man born of the age of the Airbrushed & Shaven.

I do, as it were, have a female companion of my own who tosses my member about. In the mouth and in the vagina. Very good. Very good indeed. What I ask is mostly agreed to, and that which I do not ask - well, I will grow up to asking. It takes a daring and strengthened man to look a loved one straight in the eyes and say, "Turn around so I can stick it in your ass then pull it out to cum on your face. Oh yeah, don't forget to suck it clean as well."

Such a man is either a dense idiot or a well loved gentleman brave even for honesty. I an neither of these. Yet.

At the moment I would like to meet this young thing -



A few things I know about her are:

01. She's English, of the Great Britain variety.
02. She's a tad chunky (I like that.)
03. She refers to herself as a glamour model.
04. She appears different in profile than she does dead on.
05. There is no way to be sure that her myspace page is actually hers.

Beyond this it is all guesses and common vagaries of imagination.

Is she a slut? Who knows, but the best guess would be "yes." And here's why. She poses nude for money. This is a known fact, sex sells. She is selling her sexuality to us all, there it is, tada. This becomes her worth. She could make money other ways, for her dignities sake, but she does not fear for her dignity, perhaps she sees it differently. Very well. A harem is always built up of floozies, that is it's purpose.

Anyway. Point?

Exactly, none taken.

As much as I would like to romp and roll with this young woman is as much as I would not be too thrilled to roll around town with her at my ready to meet family and friends. Not the sort of creature. Tada. Instant asshole. First and foremost, honest and hypothetical for sure, as always the best bets are.

This still does not change the shape of the picture in my cranial theater of her round flab cheeks grinding in and around my lap as the littlest me digs deep into the well of her English skin.



Again, tada. There is no need to imagine her at the bank or flossing her teeth. It never really happens. Real women, those that pose as cashiers and station attendants, only mimic flesh & bone. Ethereal. Simulacra of Mother Fucking Nature. Nautical compasses on land, destinations for lost heroes, so on and so forth. Anything twisting of language to avoid two words:

01. "Goddess"
02. "Pedestal"

A world without men is a dreamlife of breasts and plush mounds of river water'd vagina.

God Bless.

(pictures stolen from the thighmaster.)