BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
- Posts
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There was no other way of telling her.
On the drive home, I saw every word that would form. I saw how they would squirt out, first in my mind and then in my mouth, each one erected and firm as it dripped from my lips and splattered in her ears.
I knew I'd tell her. I knew she'd hear them.
"Ugh. Babes?" I turned and faced her.
"WHAT!" She replied in the usual manner.
"Um, I have to tell you something."
"WHAT!"
"Ugh. It's hard to say the words."
"WHAT!"
"Well. Your pussy's been stinking more than usual."
"GOOD!" She acknowledged as if she didn't care anymore. Ugh. I remember our first month together. She would clean her pussy three times a day. Sometimes, she'll announce it out loud when I would be productive on the gaming console. "I'M WASHING MY PUSSY!" She'd shout.
"OKAY! THANKS FOR THE TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" I would scream back.
But as time progressed, the three times a day became twice. Then once. Ugh. Today, maybe, a big MAYBE, every other week. I'm a man of control and power. I believe the Earth is not my oyster like some lame asses would proclaim. But instead, my toilet. So I take much appreciation in relieving the bowels of thought and opinions upon others. Some would say I judge too much. Others perhaps would say I'm an asshole out of my time. But to be honest, I'm just a man trying to make sense of this shithole planet.
But unlike an ordinary man discovering his woman is giving up hope in her vagina, I did not cry or scream or throw objects across the room like other guys would do because of a stinky pussy. No. Instead, I accepted it. And I am now attempting to welcome the stink. It feels like acquiring the taste of a delicacy. Like the tourist visiting a shithole island and trying the village subhumans' cuisines. And perhaps he would say, "This food tastes like shit, and all of you people should kill yourselves." Although, I care very much for the vagina I pound, slam, jackhammer, nail, punch, tear up, destroy. I would know not what to do without such.
Thank you for allowing me to share another cringe moment. However, that was fiction based upon non-fiction of a past. A creepy-past. A pastry creepay for your savory buds.
On the drive home, I saw every word that would form. I saw how they would squirt out, first in my mind and then in my mouth, each one erected and firm as it dripped from my lips and splattered in her ears.
I knew I'd tell her. I knew she'd hear them.
"Ugh. Babes?" I turned and faced her.
"WHAT!" She replied in the usual manner.
"Um, I have to tell you something."
"WHAT!"
"Ugh. It's hard to say the words."
"WHAT!"
"Well. Your pussy's been stinking more than usual."
"GOOD!" She acknowledged as if she didn't care anymore. Ugh. I remember our first month together. She would clean her pussy three times a day. Sometimes, she'll announce it out loud when I would be productive on the gaming console. "I'M WASHING MY PUSSY!" She'd shout.
"OKAY! THANKS FOR THE TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" I would scream back.
But as time progressed, the three times a day became twice. Then once. Ugh. Today, maybe, a big MAYBE, every other week. I'm a man of control and power. I believe the Earth is not my oyster like some lame asses would proclaim. But instead, my toilet. So I take much appreciation in relieving the bowels of thought and opinions upon others. Some would say I judge too much. Others perhaps would say I'm an asshole out of my time. But to be honest, I'm just a man trying to make sense of this shithole planet.
But unlike an ordinary man discovering his woman is giving up hope in her vagina, I did not cry or scream or throw objects across the room like other guys would do because of a stinky pussy. No. Instead, I accepted it. And I am now attempting to welcome the stink. It feels like acquiring the taste of a delicacy. Like the tourist visiting a shithole island and trying the village subhumans' cuisines. And perhaps he would say, "This food tastes like shit, and all of you people should kill yourselves." Although, I care very much for the vagina I pound, slam, jackhammer, nail, punch, tear up, destroy. I would know not what to do without such.
Thank you for allowing me to share another cringe moment. However, that was fiction based upon non-fiction of a past. A creepy-past. A pastry creepay for your savory buds.
