I'm a filthy-minded bitch. Sometimes I might tell some man that I am the just about dirtiest bitch they can imagine, but they usually don't believe me. Trust me on it. I'm nasty, straight up, nasty.
Freaks they may be, but most men find me way too deep for their freaky tastes. Much as I hate it, I'm the one who has to keep her shit undercover until I get with somebody as nasty-minded as me. On the other hand, some men are way TOO freaky for even me. But it's cool. We all just got to bounce to it, I guess. Try each other out, figure where the fit is; what floats our own particular boat, get in where we fit it. At least I get to write on it, can't stop me. My nasty-mind just flows like a damn waterfall.
I'm chronic, a sex compulsive. I figure that if it's the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is the more pleasure it's likely to be. Me? I'm greedy for some dick. Just shrug it, because it's just the way I am. I've got a sort of mental smut loop running in my head all god-dam-day, until it busts out and I act the slut. I just ain't wired right, I guess.
Most of the time I figure I'm corrupting some mans mind when I start freaking with him nasty, probably making him want to run off to some cathedral someplace and do confession, just to get the rah-rah off him.
Then off I go picking through the pack until I find a man who's as filthy-minded as I am, or better, and then, well you know.
Bolt the doors, and hope that nobody knocks the damn walls down tonight, 'cause all hell is about to break loose!
No comments:
Post a Comment