I desperately want to have sex with Miss Teen Delaware. Even though she’s the kind of girl who wrecks the one good thing in her life for five hundred bucks from a guy who’s too dumb to turn off the air conditioner when the camera’s rolling. Five hundred bucks and a free Days Inn towel. She could be a murderer, but she is three months past her eighteenth birthday with what they call a “neotenous” face. This is the nonthreatening latinate way of saying all hot women look like little kids. What does this tell you. Girls are six and that’s the prettiest they’re ever gonna be. No pedo.
Her skull didn’t turn all rugged and manly in puberty and she kept her little girl face. She has between fifteen and twenty five per cent body fat. She is of the age where if you ejaculated in her at the correct time there’d be a large chance of her conceiving a non-birth-defect-laden baby. That’s all it takes. Another girl could have composed a symphony that made me weep or a novel that showed me the true meaning of life and if she had a slightly weird chin it wouldn’t matter. How young are you, how not fat are you, how much does your face resemble a six year old child.
And even if you had Miss Teen Delaware, you would quickly become bored with Miss Teen Delaware and begin jerking off to Miss Teen Delaware’s eighteen year old ne’er-do-well friends; eventually you’d kill to fuck anybody on the planet besides Miss Teen God Damn Delaware. You spend your life dreaming of all this pussy you can never have, and once you have it you start dreaming of some other pussy. This shit is a nightmare, and I’m lucky. I’m an asshole who contributes nothing to society and there are probably old chicken bones in my rug. But I’m tall and my jawbone sticks out. That’s all it takes.
What a fucking drag, man. What if you could really love and care for somebody and that made you want to fuck them, instead of flinching at every young piece of ass who walked by? That would be too easy, wouldn’t it. Mother Nature, you cunt.