Be_ConfidentBro
Resident Forum Gay Alien
- Joined
- May 31, 2020
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Its hilarious, but its also kinda sad. Let's imagine one single day in the average woman's life. Her day commences in the haze of whatever free drugs and booze she imbibed, boofed and snorted the previous day. She can barely make out all the notifications from thirsty dudes literally from all over the world.
There's a vast underclass of swarthy men stretching from here to bumfuck Bangladesh who like, comment and follow a girl like this, and she needn't ever interact with them. Are these men even real? Not to her, no. Plus, in all likelinood she is waking up next to one or several sleeping studs, the ones who the night before gaped and glazed our girl until their rigorous fuckings broke her fickle female reality and she suddenly saw before her the roastie dimension: a yonic realm where tesseracts of turgid, tumescent phalluses are powered by the aggregated orgasmic energies of all women worldwide who in that same moment shared delivery to this phantasmic space by way of the same sort of jackhammering fuckfest induced hallucinations.
She'd have forgotten her name, number systems and become psychically disembodied somewhere during the double penetrations. But after enough rest, our girl will be ready to text one of her orbiters for coffee, another for lunch, one lucky guy to go shopping with and another for transportation to dinner. Time with girlfriends, also financed by another doting beta, blends seemlessly into another libidinous evening dank with debauchery. Sometimes she'll have time to shower, other times she can purchase one of many commercially available "feminine wipes" to "clean" the cum and smegma and who knows what Chad-deposited detritus sprayed and smashed into her dangly clam meat. And after a few judicious wipes of her snatch, she'll be ready to mount the next stallion rounding the turn of the Cock Carousel.
There's a vast underclass of swarthy men stretching from here to bumfuck Bangladesh who like, comment and follow a girl like this, and she needn't ever interact with them. Are these men even real? Not to her, no. Plus, in all likelinood she is waking up next to one or several sleeping studs, the ones who the night before gaped and glazed our girl until their rigorous fuckings broke her fickle female reality and she suddenly saw before her the roastie dimension: a yonic realm where tesseracts of turgid, tumescent phalluses are powered by the aggregated orgasmic energies of all women worldwide who in that same moment shared delivery to this phantasmic space by way of the same sort of jackhammering fuckfest induced hallucinations.
She'd have forgotten her name, number systems and become psychically disembodied somewhere during the double penetrations. But after enough rest, our girl will be ready to text one of her orbiters for coffee, another for lunch, one lucky guy to go shopping with and another for transportation to dinner. Time with girlfriends, also financed by another doting beta, blends seemlessly into another libidinous evening dank with debauchery. Sometimes she'll have time to shower, other times she can purchase one of many commercially available "feminine wipes" to "clean" the cum and smegma and who knows what Chad-deposited detritus sprayed and smashed into her dangly clam meat. And after a few judicious wipes of her snatch, she'll be ready to mount the next stallion rounding the turn of the Cock Carousel.
