Saturday, 12 December 2009

The Senseless Gibbering of a Simpering Freak

There is more to this essay than your ass but let's begin there, shall we?
Your ass is sublime. I want to lay my head down beside it just weep, tears of anguish and reverence. Yes honey, I revere your ass. I revere yr whole body. I think you looked mesmerising in that dress on Friday night. Oh honey how I longed to do atrocious things to you, nae, not atrocious, merely slightly sordid is all. Yeh baby, sordid things, I thought about those fantasies you told me about in the car, ah sweet christ honey, I thought about those sordid things whilst I was tucked up in bed, cosy, a mere man. Oh baby when you told me about being groped on a bus in Poland the dreadful thought flickered through my fervent mind that I should grasp yr thigh right there and then in the car oh christ I would have but one must adhere to decorum, one must observe certain principles of behaviour, especially when certain parties (ie: you) have inferred that they would not cheat on their boyfriend.
Oh honey, picture this: my fat excruciatingly hard cock lodged deep inside you I can imagine it vividly, I would lift yr legs and penetrate you deeply, with slow force. I can sense: tightness, deranged glee. I apologise honey, what an odious man I must seem to you but I feel it is important you comprehend the simmering truth.
I'd like to have a siesta with you, writes the odious, pitiful man. I'd like to snuggle against your warm ass, to spoon you, to oh baby I'd harbour a fierce, monstrous erection, but I would not act on my carnal impulses, I would be a model of restraint and decorum.
I'd like to take yr nipple in between my chapped lips and suckle on it like a pitiful babe lose in the sweet mountains. Does that make any sense? Does anything?
Dear honey I would clasp your tit with one hand and with the other I would pin both your hands behind your head as I fucked you ruthlessly and gently.
Oh my sweet christ I would like merely to lay beside you and bury my head under yr forearm and press urgently against you like a pitiful maniac.
I would bury my head in yr golden hair, angelic hair, and I would weep like some broken, lost fuck-up in the depths of turmoil which is what I secretly am. My god to lay beside you I would tremble as if cold or feverish, I would tremble with sheer carnal anticipation.
I'm rather a fan of siestas, are you? We could take one together, fully clothed of course, for I am a man of decorum above all else, I dare not defile you in reality no, unless, perhaps, if you requested it but no it doesn't bear thinking about no oh fuck I'd listen to you recite De Sade.
I can imagine what occurs to you. What a simpering freak! What a monstrous, odious and, above all, pitiful semblance of a man that is invoked here before you.
In some sweet parallel reality where you are single I imagine coming on various parts of your body: yr tits, yr ass, yr thigh, yr lips, face, even yr hair! Obscene, huh? Oh honey I would not commit such abject, unpalatable deeds without yr express permission. Which I am not asking for you to grant me, I am merely sharing some of the depraved thoughts that flash through my mind on this wintry, sunny Sunday morning, awful as they are, in the interests of truth and confession.
Your sincerely
The Sick Simpering Lunatic

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