but i do have the guts to wake up a snoring cheerleader before the alarm sounds. infact im mighty courageous in the waterbed, and if theres one thing i can teach the world it’s whisper, be safe, and experiement.
even if it doesnt come out right i love writing in the mornings. every morning. any morning. mornings where i have to work in an hour or less, mornings when i am working. mornings when women blow the rest of what they have from theirs into my lungs on a sunday morning in southern califuckme again she whispers.
but im writing.
the lilt in her lilt is adorable and my hairline might be retreating, and my tummy might be advancing but the libido still thinks we’re nineteen so i ask the beauty queen to give me ten minutes. i swear baby ten minutes.
its the morning but its the summer morning so i have to take my shirt off to write which she puts on and models infront of the mirror for herself. its a red flannel pajama top thats never been ironed after a million washes so its all fuct but on her and that nattygood long hair it looks spectacular as tanned long legs jut from underneath and disappear into the plush carpet
when did i get plush carpet?
nothing in this is true.
a little sore from grinding this morning with her before going to sleep again. she likes her panties when she sleeps. lots of girls do. daintiest things in the world and yet these very bright girls charmingly seem to consider them protection.
she kisses me on my bald spot and i say eight minutes bring me some cereal dear and she comes back with a tiny variety pack box of frosted flakes and i forget shes not my mom shes the polar opposite, she doesnt serve she receives and now she wants to receive every inch of my attention.
she says nice things about my attention. she says its perfect and i say it could be more perfect and she says yes it could be closer to me and i say seven minutes hot girl and she puts her hair up and poses and lets it down and acts coy and is hyper hyper hyper what has made you so hyper and she says lalalalalalust
shes a singer. not a pro. not even a fake. but she sings her words when shes happy and sings her words when she whines.
when will you coooooooome-herrrrrrrre she complained on the phone last night twirling her hair and stretching on her queen sized sounding like a boarding school girl and people have always asked me how i tolerate such things but im a fan of communication and shes just saying those three magic words i want you added with the best one of all
inpatiently she flips through tivo as the sunlight’s revived in her highlights
she cant sit still and she cant stop making the tv beep and bop and bing
she cant stop flashing me her nothing.
everythings cute on her. i want to take pictures and show you but it doesnt photograph well.
and anyway everythings context
on some it looks dangerous and sexy on others adorable or evil
on her its cute. just enough attention paid. just enough motion made.
the best planned babe of men and lays.
brought her own condoms. flavored the way she likes em. and guess what will happen when a girl likes the taste of something dear gentlemen,
oh and there were other things in her magic bag which would have worried me once upon a time but what did i say in the opening.
and later she will continue to lick my chest in her attempt to break my heart.