How do you feel about apps like Grindr?
You don't think I'm a slut?
You suck 20 cocks one week and suddenly you're a slut.
I want your slobbery mouth pussy all over my balls.
I do not want to be spoken to this way.
But you know, it is like if you went on a diet and there were commercials for ice cream all the time on TV, creamy, thick, salty, hot, slimy ice cream.
All I want for my 300th birthday is one boy, one boy to love, to love me, with whom the conversation never runs out, who will surprise me on the sidewalk with a hug from behind,
to slipping his warm arms under mine and squeezing me. Yes, that is what I want and he needs to let me eat his cum four times a day, yes.
No, I have standards. I have standards.
From big shooter, having common days, heavy load, fun to cargo. But I did skip lunch.
You're the best, babe.
Thanks.
Night, babe. Why don't you ever go down on me?
You say something, babe?
But, well, I sort of feel like nobody really likes doing it. I mean, it's kind of just like you're doing charity.
Well, regardless, it's a sign of my feelings for you. Feelings have been growing for the last six months.
When my last boyfriend, almost boyfriend, dumped me, almost dumped me, I vowed that I would never go down on another guy until we were in a committed relationship.
And maybe it's just a matter of semantics or labels. I know different people express feelings in different ways.
But if you care for somebody, you should. And I'm not saying like you, but I mean like the universal you should think about altering your form of expression a little bit.
Like maybe using your words to communicate. Like we could discuss our reservations or our hopes and maybe we could even use, you know, a label to help delineate where I stand.
I mean, a label like...
Okay.
I'm going to go brush my teeth. I got an electric one.
Okay, okay.
Lester, is that one of them there?
Oh, mileage? I think that's...Rovacher?
Oh, no, that's Raphael. Sorry, buddy. They're brothers. They look kind of similar. Want to see?
Ah, I don't know. Oh, hold on.
He's still down there.
Can you see the resemblance? Cubic lights can leave anywhere in the body as long as the hair is thick enough.
Why do you keep them?
They're what I have left.
My wife moved out. Linda thinks she doesn't love me anymore. She met someone else and gave me crabs the last time we made love.
These are the progeny of the ones that lived off of her blood, so I feel like there's a little bit of Linda in every one of them on a genetic level, like the children we never had.
We can exterminate our children.
Sometimes when I think about what's happened, I want to hurt Linda. I never would. I'd never do that.
But I might hurt myself. I could. I could slice my penis off, put it in the mail, sit back down, and bleed out on the couch.
Because that's what I feel like. I feel like I can cut it.
But I would never do that. I would never do that because I love you guys. I love them. I'm capable of love. I deserve love.
Linda.
Linda, come back.
Linda, come back.
There you go.
I'm fine. I get to raise my little guys like a father and I still get to have a
piece of Linda with me. I'm happy!
