A Collection of Spectacles

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I bought a sleep aid from Duane Reade today around 9:30 am. I got off from work after seeing some dude with a really small curved dick right before. I couldn’t make myself pretend like I had a gag reflex.

I’m tired of trying to make men feel self important. I wanna call you disgusting to your face. They stopped selling dxm when I was in high school so I don’t even know whats in this pill I’ve taken, but at least I have enough courage to visit this.

*****

I started this post five days ago and I’m trying to finish it now. I started writing, “I wanna say that I can’t stand men, but I’ve pivoted away from gender essentialism over the years,” but now that I’ve reread the paragraph above, I’ve realized how full of shit I am. He always says that the future is something that we can’t describe because the language for it doesn’t exist right now.

****

Domming in 2018

“What about if I take you out to the park with my boots all muddy and make you lick them while you kneel in public?”

”I don’t wanna end up viral.”

”Fair enough.”

*****

I’m on my knees watching you breathe heavily. I’m trying to flick my tongue around and take my time because out of the hundreds of girls who wish they were me right now, I feel like I’m the only one who wants to watch you pant and sigh. This moment feels like a well earned eternity, blissfull and saccharine. Yet after releasing a steady stream of cum in me, you start sobbing violently and my body runs cold. Later, sitting on the couch after everything has settled and cooled, you ask if I think you have ptsd.

I can’t even think of how many times and ways I’ve examined every encounter endlessly, observing and gathering information in order to maybe try and answer why this happens when it does, but instead I choke up like I always do and say, “from what,” even though I know what from. I don’t think words exist yet to describe how I feel, but I hope everyone feels something this bittersweet at least once.

 

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