At the End of the Day
It boils down to this. Puking my very guts out. Wallowing in un-admitted, disallowed self-discrimination. Not that I love to shove my lowly soul down to a corner, but you know what? Those taunts, oh boy, those taunts ... though unintended, can really get to you.
After an unplanned course in crypti-logy of course, one truly gets better and better at this. Sometimes you have that distinct smell of
his very male scent breathing down your collar... girls, you know how her head would snap up, mouth slightly open, teeth exposed and that slight baring of her tongue as she pants, and she pants...
And you're just right, you know? It is erotic.
You know it when you feel the icy cold taste of sparkling fruit juice roll down your throat, feel that sweet taste of grapes envelope your sense as you sorely nod to yourself, 'Yes, yes, of course this tastes better than fermented grapes... wine just tastes horrible, it's usually for wannabes who want to pretend to be classier than others.'
But she is classier than others.
Or so
she thinks.
At the end of the day, you realize just one thing. Everyone's a bloody hoax.
Even though she hates to admit it. That woman on the bed, she moans,
yes you know how she moans as
his body grinds into her, animalistic, like that, it hurts but she tolerates the pain because, because, it is welcome. 'Pain'.
I don't like tolerating pain, but I don't seem to have a choice, dearies.
You, dearies, did you do your civic duty today?
