Oh my, look at you. Utterly inviting with your thickness, and full-fat creaminess on display, you’re certainly no introvert. I crave to open the taste of your sweet unhealthiness like some sinewy-armed hooker, cheaply sexing her body for a bout of smack.
My nostrils widen, and my eyes burn through you like a tiger honing in on its next prey. I’m trying to calm the salvia that’s befriending my mouth, tame myself, and cautiously savour this moment, make this moment last for as long as possible. But oh Lordy it’s difficult! You seduce me, like a taboo creature of darkness, I don’t know how to take you on, do I delicately pick the berries off first, and suckle on them like a Freudian child. Or like a lady of sophistication do I cut a slice, and feed myself with a silver spoon? No that’s not me. I must act accordingly; you look fun, so I must eat you in a flurry of fun.
I look at your sculptured body in all its calorific glory and glance down at my body, and feel a pang of guilt, but with guilt comes denial and justification and so I tell myself ‘I don’t smoke, I don’t take drugs, and I rarely drink, so let me satisfy my soul with you.’ So with a smile on my face, and a plastic spoon in the hand I take you, I take you to my mouth and my body, and begin to feel you intoxicate my senses like a beautiful sea of sperm.
My contentment lies in the consumption of YOU.