Does color matter to a vagina?

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

Depends, right? Especially considering her circle/family. I used to slam a gangina. That's a gangster vagina. Fyi. Ngl. Fr, niccas! Anywhocho, we kept it on the low-low. She didn't want her gang to find out. Because she liked me that much. In her own words, "Shiet, motherfucker, they pop-pop-pop yo white ass! I cants allows that." So she used me as a customer front. Made the gang think I was a druggie for the sluggie. It worked.

She'll message me first before dropping by. "Yo, pull up." That meant mama's wet wanting some white chocolate. So I'll hit the weights and get my shit JACKED! Prepared. No more than five minutes after her arrival, I got her ankles pinned to the bed next to her ears SLAMMING that shit. Pow-pow-pow-pow!

Shiet, she was in love. But all good things must end. She got locked up and I left the state. We never saw each other again. Though sometimes I wonder, Did that bitch put a hit out on me?

 

[Deleted member]

0, kys shitposter

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

0, kys shitposter

Touched the heart, uh? Yeah. I get it. No shame in that. Most romance stories can affect emotion. And you're probably right. When she was in jail and not able to see her white master, probably she felt like killing herself. Ugh.

 

[Deleted member]

Touched the heart, uh? Yeah. I get it. No shame in that. Most romance stories can affect emotion. And you're probably right. When she was in jail and not able to see her white master, probably she felt like killing herself. Ugh.

nah i dnrd tbh, looks like a shitty reddit copypasta

 

[Vermilioncore]

Did that bitch put a hit out on me?

It plagued me deeply like nothing else, even the damned Coronavirus didn’t hit me that bad! Even going about my day I would hear yapping purple lips from a melanin-heavy brotha and familiar words like “pop-pop and dindu” seemed commonplace for their conversations.

Ugh, and can we talk about the scent of fried chicken which lingers longer than that of the coochies stinky savor? Near my one bedroom shack (bought with the money that ghetto corner sucker gave me as a birthday gift) a chicken joint stood barren. Open 24/7 and not a damn gangsta went near it!

So, I realized that was the hit. The chicken joint. You ask why? Ha! Well, let’s just put it this way, them boys was cookin up something way more ingredients in their chicken then the average mothafuckin KFC does. Sheit, I can’t help but be tempted to try dat shit.

Wait, why da fuck am I starting to talk all gangsta and shit? That jungle fever lingers. Oh well.

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

Did that bitch put a hit out on me?

It plagued me deeply like nothing else, even the damned Coronavirus didn’t hit me that bad! Even going about my day I would hear yapping purple lips from a melanin-heavy brotha and familiar words like “pop-pop and dindu” seemed commonplace for their conversations.

Ugh, and can we talk about the scent of fried chicken which lingers longer than that of the coochies stinky savor? Near my one bedroom shack (bought with the money that ghetto corner sucker gave me as a birthday gift) a chicken joint stood barren. Open 24/7 and not a damn gangsta went near it!

So, I realized that was the hit. The chicken joint. You ask why? Ha! Well, let’s just put it this way, them boys was cookin up something way more ingredients in their chicken then the average mothafuckin KFC does. Sheit, I can’t help but be tempted to try dat shit.

Wait, why da fuck am I starting to talk all gangsta and shit? That jungle fever lingers. Oh well.

Ugh. Tell me about it.

 

[Vermilioncore]

Ugh. Tell me about it.

“I’m almost there.” I texted the used up 40-something year old slut who I barely even knew. The damned dinosaur had asked me to bring a pack of cigs and protection. Protection? Never heard of that one.

In the Uber, my cock is leaking pre-cum thinking about fucking a nasty, knat-filled muff. The driver chatters incessantly. He’s goes on and on about tanks, helicopters, and war zones. Tanks. Yes, that’s me. I can see myself as a tank when this load of warm nectar explodes in less than 30 minutes.

“I’m here,” I text, using a texting app (why the fuck would I use my real number?)

“Hold on, coming!” She replies.

Ugh. What a disgusting home. Well, I suppose it’s a fitting home for a disgusting fuck-pocket. In fact, I’m a tad bit scared. I’ve seen similar residencies in films like The Hills Have Eyes.

I crouch behind this blue barrel situated next to a trashy RV that sits on the dirt lawn.

The door swings open and I see her. Very unsightly. Skinny legs and a very unappealing body. Her face looks like a haggard homeless woman from some type of Hills Have Eyes spin-off!

“Hi!” I say, grabbing her tits, err, I mean grabbing where her tits are supposed to be, if she had any.

“How about sucking this dick?”

“Look, I’m not like that,” she says grabbing the cigarettes from my hand and searching for her lighter in her trashy short-shorts. “Can we just talk first?”

I go to her bed, which strangely seems to be the most decent looking area of her entire home. I whip my dick out and start stroking it. “Come here and suck this dick, will ya? Didn’t you say we were going to fuck? At least pre-game with me if you’re going to pussy out of the real game.”

She comes closer and stares at my dick as I stroke it. She appears to want to take it, like it belongs to her, and shove it down her slutty, stinky throat.

“I’m not like those girls…” she laments.

“Ah, I guess I’ll have to do this one alone.” I say, stroking faster.

Before long, I blow a hot load. You could’ve fooled me into thinking it was fucking microwaved from how warm it was. Boy, did she miss out on something tasty, creamy, and fittingly warm.

“You done?”

“No shit, bitch,” I say, wiping my cum all over her bedspread and walking toward the door.

“So, California, huh? Tell me about your business trip!” She says, putting a smoke into her mouth and crossing her arms, seemingly preparing for a long boring conversation.

“Ugh, yeah, it’s going to be nice,” I say, walking away from her and into the darkness across from her shitty, scary lawn.

“I’ll be right back,” I shout to no reply, “this fucking thing is taking too long and no one is even going to read it.”

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

“I’m almost there.” I texted the used up 40-something year old slut who I barely even knew. The damned dinosaur had asked me to bring a pack of cigs and protection. Protection? Never heard of that one.

In the Uber, my cock is leaking pre-cum thinking about fucking a nasty, knat-filled muff. The driver chatters incessantly. He’s goes on and on about tanks, helicopters, and war zones. Tanks. Yes, that’s me. I can see myself as a tank when this load of warm nectar explodes in less than 30 minutes.

“I’m here,” I text, using a texting app (why the fuck would I use my real number?)

“Hold on, coming!” She replies.

Ugh. What a disgusting home. Well, I suppose it’s a fitting home for a disgusting fuck-pocket. In fact, I’m a tad bit scared. I’ve seen similar residencies in films like The Hills Have Eyes.

I crouch behind this blue barrel situated next to a trashy RV that sits on the dirt lawn.

The door swings open and I see her. Very unsightly. Skinny legs and a very unappealing body. Her face looks like a haggard homeless woman from some type of Hills Have Eyes spin-off!

“Hi!” I say, grabbing her tits, err, I mean grabbing where her tits are supposed to be, if she had any.

“How about sucking this dick?”

“Look, I’m not like that,” she says grabbing the cigarettes from my hand and searching for her lighter in her trashy short-shorts. “Can we just talk first?”

I go to her bed, which strangely seems to be the most decent looking area of her entire home. I whip my dick out and start stroking it. “Come here and suck this dick, will ya? Didn’t you say we were going to fuck? At least pre-game with me if you’re going to pussy out of the real game.”

She comes closer and stares at my dick as I stroke it. She appears to want to take it, like it belongs to her, and shove it down her slutty, stinky throat.

“I’m not like those girls…” she laments.

“Ah, I guess I’ll have to do this one alone.” I say, stroking faster.

Before long, I blow a hot load. You could’ve fooled me into thinking it was fucking microwaved from how warm it was. Boy, did she miss out on something tasty, creamy, and fittingly warm.

“You done?”

“No shit, bitch,” I say, wiping my cum all over her bedspread and walking toward the door.

“So, California, huh? Tell me about your business trip!” She says, putting a smoke into her mouth and crossing her arms, seemingly preparing for a long boring conversation.

“Ugh, yeah, it’s going to be nice,” I say, walking away from her and into the darkness across from her shitty, scary lawn.

“I’ll be right back,” I shout to no reply, “this fucking thing is taking too long and no one is even going to read it.”

The ugh is strong with you.

Excellent read!

 

[BigJimsWornOutTires]

“I’m almost there.” I texted the used up 40-something year old slut who I barely even knew. The damned dinosaur had asked me to bring a pack of cigs and protection. Protection? Never heard of that one.

In the Uber, my cock is leaking pre-cum thinking about fucking a nasty, knat-filled muff. The driver chatters incessantly. He’s goes on and on about tanks, helicopters, and war zones. Tanks. Yes, that’s me. I can see myself as a tank when this load of warm nectar explodes in less than 30 minutes.

“I’m here,” I text, using a texting app (why the fuck would I use my real number?)

“Hold on, coming!” She replies.

Ugh. What a disgusting home. Well, I suppose it’s a fitting home for a disgusting fuck-pocket. In fact, I’m a tad bit scared. I’ve seen similar residencies in films like The Hills Have Eyes.

I crouch behind this blue barrel situated next to a trashy RV that sits on the dirt lawn.

The door swings open and I see her. Very unsightly. Skinny legs and a very unappealing body. Her face looks like a haggard homeless woman from some type of Hills Have Eyes spin-off!

“Hi!” I say, grabbing her tits, err, I mean grabbing where her tits are supposed to be, if she had any.

“How about sucking this dick?”

“Look, I’m not like that,” she says grabbing the cigarettes from my hand and searching for her lighter in her trashy short-shorts. “Can we just talk first?”

I go to her bed, which strangely seems to be the most decent looking area of her entire home. I whip my dick out and start stroking it. “Come here and suck this dick, will ya? Didn’t you say we were going to fuck? At least pre-game with me if you’re going to pussy out of the real game.”

She comes closer and stares at my dick as I stroke it. She appears to want to take it, like it belongs to her, and shove it down her slutty, stinky throat.

“I’m not like those girls…” she laments.

“Ah, I guess I’ll have to do this one alone.” I say, stroking faster.

Before long, I blow a hot load. You could’ve fooled me into thinking it was fucking microwaved from how warm it was. Boy, did she miss out on something tasty, creamy, and fittingly warm.

“You done?”

“No shit, bitch,” I say, wiping my cum all over her bedspread and walking toward the door.

“So, California, huh? Tell me about your business trip!” She says, putting a smoke into her mouth and crossing her arms, seemingly preparing for a long boring conversation.

“Ugh, yeah, it’s going to be nice,” I say, walking away from her and into the darkness across from her shitty, scary lawn.

“I’ll be right back,” I shout to no reply, “this fucking thing is taking too long and no one is even going to read it.”

That very scene you brilliantly manifested in such magnificent words actually happened in my life with a foid I had met on POF. I ghosted her. Then met her again on Craigslist's Romance Encounters (not sure the exact name they used; similar to thee) section that was later removed due to sex traffickers fucking that up for everyone. But yes, her house was horrible. Disgusting. She was a hoarder in denial. But here comes a blackpill. She was a millionaire. She had 4 cats, 2 kittens, 2 ducks, hamsters, and a child that made me feel uncomfortable and concerned. It was pure filth. The stench was unbearable at times but thanks to Mr Liquor, I'd managed. I wanted to call the state on her but knew what could happen to that child as to becoming a burden for the state thus thrown into the foster care carousel of abuse. I couldn't do that.

Though she didn't have a broken-down RV. But there was a barn in the back. One day I was helping her nail chicken wire and went into that building to find a proper hammer. I used the ladder and went into the loft and buried deep in the corner was a metal box filled with hollow-point bullets and two CENSORED items at its bottom. Ugh. But I didn't question it.

I've learned throughout the years to not question certain things.