The Wonderland: The Horror, the Allure
My Dear Rustan,
Of course you--men like you--think only whores acknowledge thoughts like mine, but let me assure you irrefutably; you're wrong. Perversion is the last best refuge of the chaste, and having put in my time with both the sisters of the Immaculate Christ and the sisters of the hundred dollar night I can assure you as few others can where the stranger passions lie. Whatever vinyl wet dreams they may occasionally entertain, whatever car-crash contortions they may soddeny rag off to, most people most of the time just want to get off in a reasonably efficient fuck-job. A selfish and satisfyingly self-interested spurt. It's normal, human, utterly self-serving and a little pathetic, and that's why women have vibrators and men have whores; because neither demands to share your bed afterwards and neither present any face capable of reproach.
My nipples are hoisted sky-high today, little lures you've never seen. I'm thinking you squeezing them between the sides of your fingers, your thick palms locked over my breasts, fingers spread wide to measure, finally, are my generous curves larger than even your hands or not, and then slowly compressing them in your grip, as you close your hands like gates around them and my nipples slide between your narrowing fingers until only the very red tips are visible peeking through your clenching hands, until your fingertips seek other planes. Until I blush at remembering this desire.
So that's none times out of ten what people want, fast-food fuck, and if women become whores for all kinds of reasons they remain them because they are aware of this fact, are comfortable serving it up. On the rare occasion of variation the fantasy already exists in somebody else's head, and it is not for the call-girl to imagine or thrill to it, only to fill such minor roles are necessary in bringing to pass and the leave ignorant as they arrived. A whore has no more reason to seek out or create new fantasies than a child does new rules; both are already hemmed in by an impossible to understand universe of such things from other people--they don't need or want any more.
Fetishize me. Ribbon-wrap and crystalpaint my status on my skin. I want the wonderland, the horror, the allure.
Of course you--men like you--think only whores acknowledge thoughts like mine, but let me assure you irrefutably; you're wrong. Perversion is the last best refuge of the chaste, and having put in my time with both the sisters of the Immaculate Christ and the sisters of the hundred dollar night I can assure you as few others can where the stranger passions lie. Whatever vinyl wet dreams they may occasionally entertain, whatever car-crash contortions they may soddeny rag off to, most people most of the time just want to get off in a reasonably efficient fuck-job. A selfish and satisfyingly self-interested spurt. It's normal, human, utterly self-serving and a little pathetic, and that's why women have vibrators and men have whores; because neither demands to share your bed afterwards and neither present any face capable of reproach.
My nipples are hoisted sky-high today, little lures you've never seen. I'm thinking you squeezing them between the sides of your fingers, your thick palms locked over my breasts, fingers spread wide to measure, finally, are my generous curves larger than even your hands or not, and then slowly compressing them in your grip, as you close your hands like gates around them and my nipples slide between your narrowing fingers until only the very red tips are visible peeking through your clenching hands, until your fingertips seek other planes. Until I blush at remembering this desire.
So that's none times out of ten what people want, fast-food fuck, and if women become whores for all kinds of reasons they remain them because they are aware of this fact, are comfortable serving it up. On the rare occasion of variation the fantasy already exists in somebody else's head, and it is not for the call-girl to imagine or thrill to it, only to fill such minor roles are necessary in bringing to pass and the leave ignorant as they arrived. A whore has no more reason to seek out or create new fantasies than a child does new rules; both are already hemmed in by an impossible to understand universe of such things from other people--they don't need or want any more.
Fetishize me. Ribbon-wrap and crystalpaint my status on my skin. I want the wonderland, the horror, the allure.
posted by Octavia | 2:35 AM
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