Memory or fantasy?

I want to lick your pussy, to taste you, to feel you. To use you, to use your pleasure to bring me pleasure. I want your cunt to feed my hunger. Please.

Am I all good? All bad? Or is it possible that, like everyone, I’m a little of each? That I’m complicated, that I am capable of both good and bad?

Decisions can be difficult. Which would you choose? Now? Or later? And what if now is likely not to be as good as later? If now means giving up much? (It always does, doesn’t it?)

The motorcycles zooming past, one after another? In this case, they weren’t motorcycles, but buses. And your mouth was on my cock the whole time.

In the end, Nastya made me feel unimportant. Not exactly undesired, just not prioritized, somehow disrespected. And so I ended things. Or let her end them. I’m not sure which.

You want me to fuck your mind almost as much as (even more than?) you want me to fuck your face, your cunt. Well… I’m game.

Here’s a list of a few things that you might do for me, that I might do for you, that we might do for one another.

Sometimes, when I’m bored, I like to make lists. This is a list of things you might do for me.

I should stay away from women who think of sex as something for which men ask. That’s not, at all, how I think of it. But I didn’t, and it didn’t end well.

In which Tamora sticks my cock in plain view of hundreds, maybe even thousands.