Quality, darling, quality...
What a to-do!
I was contacted by a gorgeous young lady from the colonies - with whom, incidentally, I hold no grudge: the lady nor the colonies. So, no names, no pack drill, not even a geography-shaming, 'though you can tell God's not from there because of all the nasty ways a person can die. Anyway...
I was pootling on the Ritz, as one does, and this young lady offered me assignations of a textual nature, commending my pictures and basically calling me gorgeous and perverted and a good candidate for slavery. Who am I to argue, right? She said she wants me as her exclusive property because of my journey seqoia, as she called it - so far so interesting - but she pushed forward, coming on strong despite me saying I like to get to know someone first and that, as flattering a judge of character as she was she doesn't really know me. But we exchanged a couple of emails before there came a week of silence. And then...
Then I heard from her with a contract of slavery. To be honest, there were parts of it where I was running like a tap - the being naked at all times, check: the loss of bodily autonomy with castration a-la-carte, triple-check: the servicing of men and women at her discretion, checkity-check-check-check and oh my god I've just cum. But there are other items in the checklist which had me running like an Olympian - and given that five of me would be pushing a ton and I can't walk very far, that's quite impressive. Notwithstanding the fact that we live such a distance from each other. Not so far in galactic terms, maybe - we wouldn't have to bother William Shatner to fire up the Enterprise to get us together in a timely manner, for instance - but far enough for it to be a long swim. So essentially, save for her getting on a 'plane, it's going to be a remote relationship.
Fuck that.
No offence, darling, but even if you were a Nigerian princess, the Interwebz is like a jungle - beautiful, no doubt, but full of all sorts of ridiculous things that want to eat you or, fearing you would do the same to them, are quite prepared to tear you limb from limb as soon as look at you. We've all heard the stories, and I'm not saying you'd be the sort to make these stories come true - but when your back's against the wall and you've got a ruthless streak as wide as a mammoth's wotchathingamydoodad, the stories make creepypasta sound like loveletters.
Of course, I'm not saying she's a penis fly-trap, darling, but neither am I a fool. And quite frankly, I'm not that desperate either. Events have transpired which might lead some to conclude that she's a bunny-boiler, though. But for being the size and shape of a baby elephant, I'm not sure I wouldn't be kidnapped and... oh fuck, I've just cum again...
I was contacted by a gorgeous young lady from the colonies - with whom, incidentally, I hold no grudge: the lady nor the colonies. So, no names, no pack drill, not even a geography-shaming, 'though you can tell God's not from there because of all the nasty ways a person can die. Anyway...
I was pootling on the Ritz, as one does, and this young lady offered me assignations of a textual nature, commending my pictures and basically calling me gorgeous and perverted and a good candidate for slavery. Who am I to argue, right? She said she wants me as her exclusive property because of my journey seqoia, as she called it - so far so interesting - but she pushed forward, coming on strong despite me saying I like to get to know someone first and that, as flattering a judge of character as she was she doesn't really know me. But we exchanged a couple of emails before there came a week of silence. And then...
Then I heard from her with a contract of slavery. To be honest, there were parts of it where I was running like a tap - the being naked at all times, check: the loss of bodily autonomy with castration a-la-carte, triple-check: the servicing of men and women at her discretion, checkity-check-check-check and oh my god I've just cum. But there are other items in the checklist which had me running like an Olympian - and given that five of me would be pushing a ton and I can't walk very far, that's quite impressive. Notwithstanding the fact that we live such a distance from each other. Not so far in galactic terms, maybe - we wouldn't have to bother William Shatner to fire up the Enterprise to get us together in a timely manner, for instance - but far enough for it to be a long swim. So essentially, save for her getting on a 'plane, it's going to be a remote relationship.
Fuck that.
No offence, darling, but even if you were a Nigerian princess, the Interwebz is like a jungle - beautiful, no doubt, but full of all sorts of ridiculous things that want to eat you or, fearing you would do the same to them, are quite prepared to tear you limb from limb as soon as look at you. We've all heard the stories, and I'm not saying you'd be the sort to make these stories come true - but when your back's against the wall and you've got a ruthless streak as wide as a mammoth's wotchathingamydoodad, the stories make creepypasta sound like loveletters.
Of course, I'm not saying she's a penis fly-trap, darling, but neither am I a fool. And quite frankly, I'm not that desperate either. Events have transpired which might lead some to conclude that she's a bunny-boiler, though. But for being the size and shape of a baby elephant, I'm not sure I wouldn't be kidnapped and... oh fuck, I've just cum again...
1年前
