I smear the toilet seat with my semen at house parties.
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Poast new message in this thread
Date: August 2nd, 2013 7:28 AM Author: Walnut doobsian stead wrinkle
I hate these whores who get drunk at parties and leave with alphas they just met. They won't even look at me, me with my prestigious Juris Doctor degree, me with my stable income, me with my expensive suits, me a bona fide member of the bar, me a legend in the County Court lunchroom. No, these sluts chase firefighters and flight lieutenants, actors and athletes, cool chill bros with smooth faces and square jawlines.
But I have the toilet.
Yeah, while you're out there shaking your tits for the hunk parade, I'm parked here jerking off to the thought of you fucked. I go for slow, leisurely strokes, detailed, almost literary, scenarios. You knock. "I need to pee!" My fist goes spastic, responding. It only takes a minute or two. I'm efficient.
Door opens. Surprise, you're drunk. Don't even bother waiting for me to finish washing my hands. You just plop on the toilet, jeans down, legs splayed. I dry my hands, ever the gentleman, not even risking a sidelong glance. "Hey, why's the seat all--"
Door closes.
It only takes one. One little sperm to make its journey up your cunt canal, depositing my little protein package in your unguarded womb. Yeah, he'll get to rail you tonight, but only to spooge in a balloon (I heard the crinkle when he took his wallet out earlier). If you balloon--when you balloon--odds are it will be mine. You'll think it's his, he'll think it's his, but that nose, those eyes? They're mine.
And 23 years later, when your little bundle of joy takes his little 23andme test, the sordid truth will out. Check the scores. You: shamed slut. Him: shamed cuck. Me: laughing all the way to the sperm bank.
I don't get invited to many parties.
(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2326836&forum_id=2/en-en#23766892) |
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