Fucking shit. Storm knocked out the power at home. Had to go to the coffee shop. Bought my fucking chai and the wireless doesn’t work. Everything is a hassle. At least the girl next to me is pretty. Model face, like Chelsea. Broad nose, blue eyes. Fat pink top lip stuck out like Jimi Hendrix ripping a solo. Black yoga pants with a little zipper on the top of her ass crack. Chelsea’s eyes. Smart enough that you want to talk to her, dumb enough that you have a shot.
I have fucking shit to do and the power will never come back on. We will revolt and starve and die. I should have bought a gun. If society collapses, at least I can rape this broad in the tight black pants.
And of course, she walks behind me; sees my screen. Sorry.
Now she’s leaving. I’m sad to see her go but happy to have the outlet. Take a moment to memorize her little ass. I’ll say it again: nature’s cruelest torture is the inability to remember a glimpse of a woman to masturbate to. Unless you’ve seen her over and over she’ll just morph into some other girl you know with the same hair. The uglier version. Further proof: God is evil.
Who do we got left.
Cute Mexican college broad in the back. Cute eyes.
Wholesome WASP-y looking girl at the counter who smiled back at me. Too old but a well shaped face.
She wears no makeup. I cannot guess her muff. Her flannel shirt says “hairy” but there is something clean about her. Her skin is perfect. This suggests fastidious maintenance. I want to take her out. Wine and dine her and put on a show so I can get her back, get her pants off. See what it looks like. Once the panties drop I send her home. Who wants to fuck anymore. Cunts smell fishy to me since I stopped drinking. Like rotten food. Some hormone changed.
She sits. Her pants are not tight. She is wearing practical boots. Hairy? But she’s twisting her foot around with her legs crossed. A flirtatious gesture. This tells me she pays attention to her pussy. Toothpaste color nail polish, like the cheap Crest that is not whitening or tartar control or extra long lasting freshness. Just the regular old shit from the fifties. The color of the worst flavor of tic tac. Hairy. Who knows. Why don’t we live in a world where you can ask her. Excuse me, miss: what’s your cunt hair situation. Why keep secrets. Who cares about anything else. Your job, your life, your relationships. What does your pussy look like.
I bet she has a nice one. But then I always feel that way. Whenever I imagine a girl’s pussy it’s a contained fat clam with tiny little rosebud clit. Beef drapes so withdrawn they’re like something vestigial. They’ll disappear completely in three generations. Like the little claws that used to be legs on Anacondas.
The Mexican broad caught me looking. She is Disney Channel hot. Seventeen year old Jessica Alba hot. And aware of it. What a shame. Someone should have beaten her. Her dad should have called her fat. Now we’re left with this creature in the world who drives men mad and won’t give it up. She has never lifted a couch. You find yourself thinking: you’ll be old some day and no one will give a fuck about you, you cunt. You think that because she doesn’t smile at you. Pretty girls bring out the worst.
She stands up. Dumpy tits and a potato sack ass. But that face. Look back at the WASP, who looks withered and old now. Compared to potato ass who has the face of underage Catherine Zeta Jones. Strangely I picture the Mexican having a flappy pussy.
The Mexican ruined the white girl. 29 next to 21 might as well be a heap of old bones. The white girl is eating eggs and toast. She opens her mouth wide. Normally you’d want to picture your cock stuffed in her throat. Her blue eyes rolling up to look at you. Blowjob eyes, all wide from the weird head angle. Makes her look innocent like a baby deer. But 29, not 21… take her out back and shoot her. I just picture the raspy whole grain toast abrading her tonsils. Bits of runny egg in it. Plus she’s wearing an engagement ring. Take that shit off when you go out in public. For Christ’s sake, I’m trying to get excited here.