Archive | January, 2015


31 Jan

She had big tits and she was studying to be a mortician. Her OKCupid was all about death. Guatemalan I think. She wouldn’t fuck on the first date. I fingerfucked her in her car instead. A black Camry or something with a tan or gray interior. Pink panties.

I fucked her on the second date and then a couple more times until we drifted apart. Last I heard from her she was getting married to another tall skinny white man with a large broken nose. He’s into guns.

I still jerk off to her occasionally. The fantasy is that I run into her at the Cha Cha Lounge. Fuck her on top of the dumpster in back. Either she’s sitting on it facing me with legs spread open or she’s bent over it. More the former probably, because of the tits. She wants to get pregnant but it isn’t happening with the husband or she doesn’t want it to, and she tells me to cum in her, to give her a baby because I look like him and he won’t notice.

This is from 3 dates 4 years ago. You fuck 200 girls but get all your jerk mileage from the same five women. Why is she the one that sticks. Why are the others written in water. Which one am I to them.

Coffee Shop Diary: An Armpit

31 Jan

Look– an attractive woman. Jogging outfit. Maybe 22. Even her dewy little armpit is alluring, popping out of a loose tank top. Contrast this with the waitress’ armpit, which has stretch marks. Jogger woman’s armpit is stunning in comparison. I want to tongue the lilac scented Secret® out of it while plowing raw into her hot yeasty jogger’s cunt and prematurely ejaculating. She sees me looking. I feel bad. My look can only mean one thing. She sees a thought bubble drawn over my head with a cartoon drawing of her own sweaty twat; my spent seed burbling out. There is only one thing a man looking at a woman ever means. And women never look at you except to catch you looking.