Thursday, 7 July 2005

The perfect man

I dream of the perfect man. He would have a very long thick cock, white, nice and clean and a soft tongue, gentle and constant. He would come to my house, grab me by the hair, throw me on the floor, lick me for 2 minutes and then fuck me for as long as he'd like, better if for long. Then he would quote some weird philosopher in Spanish, French or German and would vanish for a day or two. He would send me a text message saying he would come again but I should forget about what he said last time we met. He would have changed his mind about the the quote. He would promise me a better philosophy next time.
He would become more violent and passionate, deeper and succinct with every encounter, leaving quicker, texting me just once after one or two days, sometimes not even texting me. He would yell by my window, and in rainy days he would kick my door, or knock on it loudly, feeling somewhat between lost and found, eyes of a child and a very very thick cock.

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