This is a continuing series that attempts to chronicle my humble beginnings as a pornosseur.

Penthouse April 1982.

    When I was nine, I was admitted into the hospital for appendicitis. It was an interesting experience for me. Everyone fawned over me, especially my mother. Two days after the surgery, my mother herself was admitted for gall stones, so my father took care of me for the next few weeks. For someone who's so un-househusband-like, I have to say he did a pretty good job. Come to think of it, it was hilarious how he even combed my hair for me. It was in that few weeks when my mother was in the hospital that I came across that issue of Penthouse that was lying rather indiscreetly in the master bedroom. He didn't seem to care whether I saw it. Somehow I have this feeling that he wanted me to see it. Maybe he wanted to skirt the sticky business of sex education and left it to his porn collection to do the job for him.  If I were a daughter, I wonder if he would have done the same.

    Anyway, that issue was great. Muriel, that hot la jeune fille with her yummy tits and ass and that beautiful French face and hair. Tanya Turner in the "Let's Get Physical" pictorial, where my two favourite images are the one where her teddy's riding up into her crack, and the one where she's sitting down there looking down at her pussy with her naughty bits peeking out.

    In the Penthouse Letters and Xaviera Hollander's Call Me Madam, there were some really good stories too. The ones that immediately come to mind include, the man who wrote in about his wife who squirts during sex, an attractive Lynda Carter-type persona who gets banged after work in the office by a young, teenage handyman ("God I'm fingering myself just thinking about it now"), a well-endowed cowboy-type guy who bangs a daughter and her mother too, and a man who fucks this rather ugly, voluptuous woman who had hips and tits that would make the Venus of Willendorf green with envy. I suppose much of my English prowess can be attributed to these stories, for even now I find myself writing sex stories as a means to practise narrative control.

I still don't believe in Santa Claus, but then came that thick, fat Playboy Christmas issue which I found under their bed. I didn't know what led me there. I guess while dogs have a nose for bones, my boner has a nose for porn. Anyway, if you've seen your share of Playboy, you'll know that there are too many words and not enough pictures. I suppose the same thing can be said about Penthouse, but then the girls in Penthouse are more wench-like and fuck-ready than their sisters in Playboy. The only great thing about that said Christmas issue was Charlotte Kemp and her magnifico breasts. You can check them out in the collage in previous post. My favourite image is the one with her sitting there holding a champagne flute, her hanging breasts held up by a black, lacy number with her pubic hair showing. Some of you are probably thinking what's so special about them, they're just a pair of tits. Well, point taken, but Charlotte's breasts seemed so magnifico to me because I used to imagine that was how my sexy neighbour's breasts looked like. Ah, my sexy neighbour.

Just like Julie, I don't think I can talk about my sexy neighbour now without reinventing her. She is wearing a baby blue sleeping gown with a deep, rectangular neckline, her hair short and curly, jet-black. She's drying her clothes, and as she bends down to reach for the wet clothes in the pail, she remains in that position, frozen for a few precious moments, long enough for me to feast my eyes. Till today I find myself wondering whether she was aware of what she was doing (to me). Whenever her rectangular neckline falls away from her chest, it isn't an ordinary sliver of cleavage that greets me. She's always wearing a bra, and this makes all the difference in the world as I find myself lingering on the straps and plastic hook that connected the two cups together, the tension on the fabric a sure indication of the sheer weight and volume of her breasts. Lovingly squashed together, they swayed ever so slightly with her every movement, the exposed flesh rosy, flushed and warm.

    I dwelt on that deep crevice between her breasts. It's the idea of something dangling in between that empty space. I imagined, to the tune of my feverish strokes, that it was my cock that was between her breasts. Looking back, I must've drained gallons of my young seed down the sewers in honour of her ample and generous cleavage.  

It did come as a surprise to me that it happened between m and I. Funny how a piece of music can cause such a torrent of memories flowing. Memories of her being next to me, time spent together in silence, smoking and making love, cheating. The sex itself wasn't that great, but the love-making, well, it was painfully emotional. Sex and love can be two different things, and it can be the same thing too. I was totally scorched by the experience, and became all the richer because of it. Songs that remind me of m:

01. It Always Comes As A Surprise - Pet Shop Boys

02. Lovefool - The Cardigans

03. Like A Tattoo - Sade

04. Love Is Stronger Than Pride - Sade 

    The time when our bodies were pressed close together on a packed streetcar, m had told me that he was suspicious of her closeness with me. I brushed away the very idea of she and I being together in complicity, and made some naïve remark about the absurdity of his suspicion.

    And look at where we are right now. Eight months later we were sitting together on a bench not far from the tobacco shop. It was a warm and sunny summer day as I listened amidst the beauty of her face. As she recounted the folly of his ways --- the silliness of his jealousy, his conjugal ineptness --- I realised that she has never seemed more serious. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she recalled how he would punch the walls in frustration.

    Looking back, it all seems to make sense now. She rested her head on my shoulder like a little girl as we stood there waiting for our coffee. I remember feeling like a young god that day; as if I've been bestowed an immense power and not knowing what to do with it. During those moments I was keenly aware of a huge array of possibilities: to simply choose one would've been unthinkable. I told myself that it was imperative that I remain calm and composed, just so that I can savour her in more minute ways. I had to remind myself constantly to not make any overt and concerted efforts to want her, because to do so would be a sure sign of weakness. I had no intention of becoming yet another victim who would fall prey to her, to use a rather weathered word, charms. But the temptation beckoned me like food amidst pangs of deep hunger. I remember telling myself: no, not this time. This time I decide to be strong. But.

    And thus their apartment was gradually decorated and overlaid with the memories of our fucking. Dead objects were charged with an effusive meaning the moment our bare skin touched them. Her bare buttocks upon the cold stove and my hairy thighs against the oven door imbued the kitchen with an violent excitement akin to the thrill of killing. In those rare moments when we were cooking in that stupid model kitchen of his design, we would be helplessly caught in that swooning excitement. As a thick slab of bloody steak sat sizzling in its own juices, our eyes would meet with her biting her lips, and me hissing through gritted teeth.

    A certain rawness was being woven into the space of their apartment. Wherever I look I see a collage of dark, wiry pubic hair, the pink and dark flesh of her genitalia and her contorted face of excruciating pleasure superimposed. As I read Bataille, images of her open mouth, of her biting and licking my fingers steal into my mind. She haunts me like a ghost; an imaginary whiff of her perfume alights on my nostrils suggesting to myself her presence.

    You were so close to us. And it reassured us. She was stretched out before me, laying supine as it was, her long, brown thighs over mine, the short summer dress that you bought her fantastically hiked up, her panties exposed. My fingers were cautiously crawling over her skin as she arched her back in response...did you perhaps detect a little sigh as she continued muttering her sweet nothings to you? Oh you were with us. We were free from anxiety precisely because you were with us. And when she put down the phone, when you were no longer with us, we feasted on each other...and for the first time too.
 

This entry, which is drawn from one of my many spiral notebooks, is dedicated to Mikey:

The next morning, I rushed out of the house, out of the laziness (masturbating, smoking, surfing for porn and chatting online, watching television) and while on the bus I saw cars moving to and fro, green cars, red cars, blue cars, trucks, vans heading here and going there. The groan of the bus engine was louder than the Piazolla in my ears. The groans of the engines of machines, groans of pain like moans of pleasure, oh how fucking spells suffering. Travelling in the subway, I am thinking of falling asleep naked on my unmade bed, and how it seems such an apt metaphor for the life that I am currently living:

Chaos

strewn all over my bed

spills onto the carpet.

I rise with a purpose

only to meander

into another

and another

and into the chaos

upon my bed and carpet. 

  Falling asleep lying face down naked on my bed, "sprawled promiscuously," on my unmade bed amidst the rush of lights in the subway tunnels. Surely my face must still be marked with the trails of angry energy from this morning. Once I got into my room last night I saw myself stripping naked and then lying on the bed, eating buns and leaving crumbs everywhere, not caring, and then masturbating to the porno that I just got back from Sophia. And I saw the alternative too, which was to take a shower, brush my teeth, remove my lenses and then go to sleep.

     Well, guess which path I took?

    Of course I stripped naked, ate the buns leaving crumbs everywhere, pulled my cock out and slowly jerked off to

    {two prostitutes are brought into a clearing in a wooded area by three bad cops. With a big gun stuck in his waistband, one of the cops watched as the four perform their customary cocksucking, pussy-fingering and pussy-eating. I found the blond prostitute particularly hot because of her facial expressions and body language (all contrived and twisted yearning, her eyes looking over her shoulders, her tongue and heaving, rolling shoulders) as the menacing-looking cop pushes her panties aside and starts rolling her meat around, stretching her lips wide, sticking a finger in, etc, etc. 

    The car they arrived in served as the stage where the long-limbed girls (one blonde, the other raven-haired) were draped upon and sucked and fucked and fucked in the ass and occasionally all at once. The highlight of this vignette concerned the blonde, when one of the cops, a bearded Arab with a huge cock, ejaculated all over her face and mouth (once again, that twisted and garbled expression, eyes pressed shut intermittently, crinkled nose and lolling tongue). This is a particularly noteworthy comeshot because of the pearly and glassy appearance of the semen that ornamented her face, lips and chin, the semen thick and white, viscous and heavy, dribbling slowly down to the edge of her chin and not quite dripping off but dangling and hanging like a bulb or an earring, and even as we speak, swinging like a little pendulum.}

two girls getting fucked by three guys, and went to sleep with my contacts on and food crumbs on the sheet. Yeah, smear, smear it all over your lovely lipsticked-mouth. With my neat and attractive façade, who would've guessed that I'm one who enjoys wallowing in his own pollution within the confines of his own room? 

     

See that tag entry on my tagboard by a certain =>? Well, that's a nice link to a nice pic of someone with really BIG BOOBIES. Can't tell if they're real, but as far as an image of big boobies is concerned, it's exciting enough. It'd be even more exciting if

a. the breasts are 100% natural, and

b. they belong to the person who made the tag entry 

    I tried going to the said person's websites, but it's rather hard to navigate, which kinda makes me shy away from leaving a comment. Hate to sound all melodramatic and shit, but it reminds me of this experience I had when I was in my teens. I think I was about eleven or twelve. One afternoon, I had a dream when I was having a nap. I dreamt that I was sitting on a couch with this girl --- whose face I couldn't recall when I woke up --- and we were kissing. I wasn't sure if we were french-kissing or just pecking, and while I remember the taste, the scent and the feel of her mouth and lips, I can't quite put it in words. When I woke up, the only sensation left in me was a deep sense of loss for something that never was.

    And so =>, if you're reading this, do you have to leave me high and low like this?

Ah, fortuity. I was writing the previous post when I turned around and saw Neko rubbing lotion on her thighs. She was wearing her baby blue nightie with her black lace panties on, and very soon, her lotion-rubbing action moved to her inner thighs, and then, to the edge of her panties. Fully aware that I was watching, she feigned nonchalance as she pulled her panties aside and began lotioning her cunt. It was a sight that was hard to resist, and I wasn't about to just sit here in front of the computer doing nothing, so I sidled up beside her. I spent a few moments watching her, carefully gauging her mood. 
    I've been dying to shoot some cosplay images of her, but she hasn't been quite in the mood for it. Which is okay though it frustrates me a little. But surely these things can't be forced.

    Anyway, as she continued to apply lotion on herself, it seemed to me that she was indeed in the mood, and I wasted no time in fetching the camera. For those who know, you know it's gonna be a great shoot with a high ratio of good shots when you get a woody whilst you're shooting. By the time we were done shooting, it was time for another kind of shooting. Halfway through the shoot I had her panties removed, and while she was going through the images I said, "Wanna fuck?" and without saying a word, she got on all fours for me to get it on. At first it was a little tricky getting in, but once she lovingly slipped it into her mouth for a quick blowjob, we were riding on the silken highway. I just love it when she's a little dry on the outside and absolutely creamy on the inside, where her vaginal walls are just squishy and starchy with cream.

    She went through the fresh images as I kept sliding it in and out of her from behind. Shivers ran through my body, I kid you not, and it was then that I realised that I haven't ejaculated since yesterday. My cock tingled with a dancing fire, and my heart itched like a old maid who hasn't been fucked for years. It amazes me what comes to my mind whenever I'm shagging. I remembered how she said to me last week that sometimes I should just fuck, instead of always concerning myself with her orgasm(s), so I thought, fuck it then, here's to a selfish fuck!

    I was bursting for the finish line, when I felt her cunt clenching and unclenching around my cock, which was a sure-fire signal that she was near. I upped the momentum, and as her waves subsided I felt the throatless gurgles of my own impending orgasm. I drove it in and out of her with all I had; our meat on meat, the squishy starchy sounds of fucking, my silent grunts. The camera fell from her hands from the impact of my thrusts, and she began moaning like an AV star, yet again.

   Seeing her being mercilessly banged by me from behind was all I needed to tip me over the edge. I groaned like a vomiting drunkard as my cock discharged its load forcefully and abundantly all over her upturned ass.

   I managed to find the resources to grab the camera off the bed and shoot some images of her devastated ass and cunt, though all I wanted to do was lie down and melt into the bed.

 

Between wakefulness and sleep, I woke up in a horny stupor. As Neko lowered her cunt into my face, my mouth opened with some trepidation and instinctively, I began eating her out with an unusual hunger. For me, the best thing about sex in the morning is its mind-free aspect. In this state I feel like I can stay perpetually hard and screw forever.   

    I kept working on her meat with my lips and tongue. She tasted like scrumptious sashimi that was practically melting in my mouth. I stuck my tongue into her hole and wiggled it as deep as I could till the tangy flavour came. She lifted herself off my face and folded her limbs into a prone position. I got up and then kneeling down, I grabbed onto her prostrated ass and got into position. Though she was wet, there was a fair bit of friction as I pushed it in. I was so hard, and she, so soft. It was one of those power fucks where our rhythms were in perfect sync, churning butter as we were, thick cream squishing out lewdly from my measured in-out, in-out thrusts into her from behind.

    I pulled out and lay down on the bed, against the wall, and she licked her own cream off my pole (I'm getting hard just writing about this now). As she gave me an in-between-fuck blowjob, I spied from the corner of my eye and saw the fat streaks of cream that were resting on her well-fucked cunt. I made her spread her thighs and photographed the creamy mess. As I photographed her, I simply couldn't resist the scent of her dirty cunt and so I had to taste her. I had to lap it all up. In the collage, you can see a shot of me doing just that. Now if that's not motherfucking filthy, tell me what is. I could tell that Neko enjoyed it as much as I did.

    With her cream still swirling in my mouth, I mounted her again, doggie-style, and rode her to an orgasm. I pulled out and she sucked me again. I asked her, "Have you had your fill?"

   "Yeaaaaa......for now." She said this in between great mouthfuls of cock; popping me out of her mouth, licking it, nibbling, slurping and playing with it. I took some shots of this too, despite the unbearable sensations that were bursting forth from my cock.

   I knew this was the perfect time to get her to pose for some cosplay pics. I could just tell that she wouldn't say no. I didn't ask for anything more elaborate than covering her head with a shawl for fear that she might say no. The shots were great, and though the shoot could've been more elaborate, with a belly chain perhaps, it was great enough for the day. After all, it is a great virtue to be grateful for what you have.

 

I had wanted to sleep but I ended up sitting on the couch smoking and thinking. Cigarette after cigarette, my thoughts curled, meandered and dissipated, poisoning the air and staining the surface of things like the smoke that issued from my cancer sticks. It's funny, but my libido wasn't there with me though my thoughts kept shifting back to =>, that remote seducer whom I've recently discovered, or should I say, who recently discovered me? The mise-en-scene of her room, like so many of the rooms that we've fucked in, and those large, anonymous teenage breasts...whenever I try to capture in words the significance, or meaning of our exchanges, it suddenly becomes too full to talk about, and I end up struggling like a fool who's trying to pinpoint the exact position and momentum of a particle. Uncertainty.

    As I lay me down to sleep I thought about how I would like to stick my tongue into her anonymous mouth, and splatter my hot come all over her invisible face. So it seems that my libido merely needed recharging.

   And now that I'm fully awake and fully-charged, I feel like dipping my pound of meat into her as yet unseen teenage cunt, but only in a manner of speaking of course.

Being the pervert that I am, while sitting at a café yesterday I found myself ogling at a woman's hands like it was some exposed sex organ. She had long fingers, and together with the veins, they suggested to me where they might've been, and what she's been doing with them. I felt myself becoming gently aroused as I saw the fingers rubbing her cunt, or stroking some stranger's cock, yanking the foreskin up and down, circling the swollen head, or simply rolling the meat around, stretching her cuntlips wide, stroking her sensitive clit, oiling her anus with her own cream, digging deep into her squishy hole, the tendons on her hand playing freely, giving rise to the prominence of the veins, the decisive in-out motions making faint little squelching noises, finally licking and sucking strings of her slime off those long, tapering fingers.

What sex blogs? I'm not sure how many of you fellas actually spend time to explore some of the sex blogs that's out there, but I've checked out quite a few and there's not one that has made me an ardent fan, yet. I mean, fleshbot wouldn't really count, because it's more like a e-zine that features what's hot du jour. I mean, is there any other sex blogs out there that's at least a little similar to mine?

    I wanna see and know about another fucking filthy male or female who totally digs the cream that squishes out during hot sessions of fucking. I mean, fuck, half of these sex blogs don't even have good-looking pics! But not having good-looking images is merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Pornography is documented sex, so I guess when the sex itself is not that hot, the pornography suffers. I wish I could be more colourful in my descriptions, but right now I just gotta get this load off my chest. (Though I really wanna jerk off and spurt my come all over Neko's sleeping beauty face right now, but I can't, because I've got work coming outta my ass)

    My point is this: to me, there's a real fucking dearth of good and FILTHY sex blogs out there with a summa cum laude of RAUNCHY ACTS OF SEX. I know this is all subjective, etc, etc, but still, it'd be good to know that there might be a chance that there is something special out there, waiting to be discovered. Damn, haven't I heard this line before? Oh yeah, I'm the perv who's got this fetish that has to do with the excitement of discovering porn.  

I still find it puzzling why some women can't be more generous. I mean, when a woman bends over in front of you, and her neckline falls away, why does she have to cover herself up? The funkiest thing about this is that, most women who cover themselves up are women who have the tiniest titties! I mean, wtf?

    I suppose I can go totally apeshit philosophically and call that act of covering up an act of seduction, but damn! cleavages are sexy! Sometimes, I'd rather just see the cleavage, instead of the breasts! It's the sensation of feeling with your eyes those breasts lovingly squashed together, and that dark and mysterious crack in between them.
 

I used to be a jealous guy, and deep down inside he's still there somewhere. Freud called it sublimation. I call it...evolution? But one thing's for sure, I've never recalled getting my panties in a bunch over how many guys my gf's been with. Whenever I became jealous in the past, it's always over silly things like when the girl makes a remark about how good-looking or sexy another guy is. Really fuckin stupid immature stuff really.

    There's a reason why I've never really been bothered with a gf's past lovers. It's because I don't dig virgins and inexperience!

    (Shit man I hope some Canadian-born Korean guy with an Afro-fetish don't get all pissed off and wanna kick my ass for writing this post) 

If you have been an avid fan, you might recall a previous post about my experience of growing up with porn. However, judging from the pathetic readership of this blog ----- heheh, which is good news to me --- I'll indulge myself and jog your memory a little. In that post, I mentioned "that portentous cachet of porn and that lone VHS." Well, that lone VHS (videotape) was none other than TABU VIDEO T8. You can check out an image of the cover which I found when I googled it.

I would pretend to be asleep as my mother and my younger brother prepared for school. I would lie there in a complete rush of barely contained excitement as I listened to my mother preparing breakfast and my younger brother showering and then getting dressed. And once I've heard the car turn the corner, I would sneak into my parents' room to retrieve that stack of magazines and that VHS videotape.

    There was much forwarding and rewinding --- I was always careful in making sure that I returned the tape the way I had found it --- as I tried to watch as much as I could within the forty five minutes or so which I had. With my fingers curled around my cock, I stroked myself slowly and deliberately in an effort to prolong the pleasure for as long as I could. I didn't want to ejaculate until I've come close to the brink enough times to make me want to lose control, to spurt all over the inside of my pyjama pants.

    But I didn't always ejaculate to the videotape. To save myself from having to clamber in panic should my mother arrive home early, I would return the tape after about thirty minutes of viewing time and then turn my attention to the magazines instead. The magazines were infinitely easier to return since they were hidden at the bottom of a closet beneath a thick pile of clothes. The chances of my mother finding them missing were rather slim given that they were also hidden in a rather deep part of the closet.

    Hot with the lingering images of Marge tossing off a cock between her large breasts and another girl licking all the sticky come off her nipples I would spread out all the magazines on the bed, ready to OD on the images.  

When I got in, the first thing I did was to turn on the computer. I didn't know why. As the computer booted up, she walked over and facing me, sat down on my thigh. I didn't resist, nor made any pretense of doing so. Through the thin material of her trousers, I felt the intimacy of her warm flesh against mine. She played with my hair, and then traced my eyebrow with an index finger. It struck me suddenly that she was indeed right there, close to me, the smell of her hair and her breath, her slitty eyes and that mouth. I slipped an arm around her waist, and her ass automatically adjusted itself to the new arrangement. I looked down, and her ass was beautiful. Did I imagine it, or did her crotch just become warmer?

    As we moved in for the kiss, I half-expected an interruption, just like in the movies. Our lips touched, but the phone did not ring. Lips connected, our tongues assumed their roles as representatives of our mutual desire for each other, licking, sucking, seeking, exploring. I savoured the sensation of her pink, soft flesh and imagined the taste of her cunt.

    I leaned back, and using the balls of my feet I pushed the chair against the wall. I held onto her waist, and ran my free hand all over her clothed body, feeling her goods, as it was. I tried to unbutton her shirt, but with one hand, it was difficult. She broke from the kiss and did it for me.

Can fiction become truth? Sure it can. Happens all the time. Wasn't it Don DeLillo who said, "A man thinks a thought in a room and it bleeds out into the world"? Well it seems that Operation Codename: Griffin might just become a reality.

     The previous posts are fiction. I don't like to lie when I create fiction. And the truth is that, Neko and I have been talking about seducing Sue into posing naked for me. Her boyfriend's not in town, and she's scheduled to join him in about two weeks. Perfect opportunity, but only if the opportunity's perfect, and perfect means fortuity, and fortuity entails a whole lot more than just wishful thinking.

    First of all, there's got to be a certain willingness and complicity on her part. After all, you can't really seduce someone who didn't want to be seduced in the first place.  Then comes the careful unfolding of coercion dressed up in the guise of casual conversation.

    She's agreed to meet up with me come this Friday night. Wish me luck. 

Come to think of it, it's really quite shameless. In the past few days I've been trying not to think about tomorrow's meeting with Sue. But you know how it is, you keep trying not to think about something and you helplessly end up thinking about it.

    Thinking about where we should go is one thing. Imagining about the possibilities is another. I keep wondering about the possibilities, no, I keep fantasising about how things could turn out in a totally surprising way. And when my mind is boggled this way, I need to write it down.

    It would be easy if she rejects my proposal. To pose nude that is. But what if she agrees? Sometimes we're so used to anticipating the negative that we do not know how to react when things turn out in our favour. Well, I've thought about it, and in the case that she accepts, I'll have some sample images to show her. I'll tell her Neko's gonna be there. After all, the last thing Neko and I want is for me to be accused of sexual assault. But sexual assault --- rape --- would only be a possible accusation if my cock ends up in her pussy, and that's not likely to happen. Or am I just fooling myself?

    If things get hotter than expected, what then? It doesn't seem likely, but yet I find myself imagining it. Fuck, I can totally see it happening. And if it does, what do I do? What do we do? I mean, the most extreme scenario that I can see, that I will allow to happen, would be a ménage à trois where Sue would not get fucked by me. Or, in more technical terms, my cock can go anywhere except into Sue's pussy. This whole thing is quite laughable really. Put me in the parameters of a brand new experience and all my childhood neuroses bubble to the surface. I fucking feel like I'm getting ready for my first day of school.

It doesn't help that Neko's been making really suggestive remarks about Sue, in particular, references to her tits and ass. Personally I prefer her ass, but Neko's more fond of her tits. From bits and pieces of information I've gathered from past conversations, I've tried to imagine what her house looked like, to conjure images of her living space, but what I mostly end up with are flashes of her stripping in front of us, gradually revealing that round ass to us, getting ready to pose for me, unleashing the slut in her upon us. Would I be so lucky to end up with images of Neko and her posing naked together? Not that I'm totally into the sundry male fantasy of watching (pseudo-)lesbians getting it on, but just imagining their limbs and bodies intertwined gets me so edgy I feel like shitting.

    Would the images end up à la  Penthouse or Playboy? Would I get to see her naughty bits? The questions could go on and on, ad infinitum. I guess we'll find out come tomorrow night, won't we? Perhaps all I'm doing is getting ahead of myself. Maybe all I'll get at the end of the coffee conversation would be a decisive and dead-ended NO, after which I can breathe easy and get on with what I've always been doing. Though I might occasionally sound like a loser with a capital L, it's a win-win situation either way.

Whenever I am angry, what I write seems so trite to me. Nothing kills my libido better than the pathetic sight of my mother acting like a queen. And this is why I've always thought that The Oedipus Complex, as hustled by Freud, is absolute crap. I've never wanted to fuck my own mother, and I never will. I don't think I could ever get sexually intimate with a girl or woman whose core personality is one of utmost preciousness. See, there's a big difference between someone who seems prissy and precious, and someone who's truly prissy and precious. Seeing someone act precious can be joy, but once I see through a person, and feel the weight of their prissiness bearing down on them and everyone else around them, I feel nothing short of disgust. Prissiness is also ball-lessness.

    And this leads to the main point of this post. Seeing Sue acting all giggly horny when deep inside she's scared shitless pissed me off enough to make me call off the meeting. I mean, what's the fucking point when I know what the outcome will be? The anticipation, the unknown, has gone out the window, cross the rooftops, run away. Attitude is a posture, and hers is a terrible one that slouches.

    (like a calcium-deficient geriatric)