PORN
08:25 Dec 15 2006
Times Read: 686
…... Alright. Well, we'll start chronologically. I was sitting in Mrs Errante's Italian class, and this was before my growth spurt since I found my dick late in life, so I must have been at the oldest 15. She was my age, but her name was Alina. She had on these shiny beige pants which make it look like she was nude. I didn’t know I was more into fabrics back then, and my mantra of the Flip Wilson saying what you see is what you get and what you don’t is better yet, I wanted the pussy behind that shiny beige pant, I didn’t want the clothes. The clothes did speak to me though, you see, shiny clothes, with advent of latex, the hologram stuff that sucks the warmth right out of you, the foil, is buts are cool anyways, but with a foil panty pressed into pelvis, it is vampiric and sucks the warmth right out of slippery interface between your thang and her sweaty backside under panty of whatever material, especially latex, that’ll make you sweat, and I don’t think polishing the panty over and over is going to make the latex panty better to breath with, no I am not saying put it over your head, no, that is my point latex doesn’t breathe. Alina’s ass was fine for her mind was phenomenal, and usually the better the ass the more intelligent the woman, because life happens to the hot and the rest get ignored, so her asss was fine in the see through pant shiny, whatever material it was like I was saying, I didn’t know of fabrics like aluria, spandex, lycra, nylon even (what they make bullet proof vests out of), latex was some space age military secret to defeat aliens with, but back to Alina, as the famous proverb goes, all I wanted to do is to get her pussy flesh grooves upon my face because there was something I had never seen before, she was kinda scrunching back in her school chair, and these were sliding chairs, so they weren't hooked to the desk, but she was disinterested, twirling her hair and popping cracking sounds with her pink Bubblicious chewing gum as Latina chicks know how to do annoyingly for attention, to hear the pop of bubble in class to not to even have to look for, the image of the pink crystalline gum covering her cute little button nose until she has to take the fingers from her hair to inextricate the bubblicious from her nose in the air at all of us because she was so hot and she knew it sliding in her chair of silky fabric skin color groove. She didn't return my gaze when I got the courage to check her out the second time. I kept looking back, any time someone moved a foot, I figured it was her foot dragging on the dirty floor making scraping sounds with her feet, and I hoped it was her who moved because maybe I could scope out an even more intimate interior look at twat, of the finest spic girl in the school. She shifted in her seat just as I looked back and looked out the window dreaming of a stud that filled her spot of where something was not now that was stuffed earlier, last night while grandmother went out to visit relatives and she had a bed to herself, to call the stud over to fill her yum yum, they spooned after with his hands over this yum factorish presence that required filling like a servicing at a gas station pump might do from time to time checking lubricant levels with mechanics greasy monkey grease monkey hands with sausage blue collar fingers that wouldn’t know how to write about a woman with dainty writers fingers that know how to touch women but don’t yet touch them brutishly like black stained blue collared thick sausage fingers would, touch them hard and all over until it was all over her like love on her face glowing, that someone accepted her lust and they were black and blue with pink clit all reddish and invigorated, innervated, and inflamed, her camel toe was not inflamed now, she had slept well after the affair. Grease monkey mechanics never write about touching them, because they just do it, you know, because they are blue collar men that act and do not think. Women have to wear slinky sultry smooth fabrics over their pussies because they are at it nonstop never admitting to masturbation like men do, because in actuality women play with themselves a whole lot more, in bondage to their sexuality, using sex as a weapon to lure the man to keep him true by desiring pussy by never getting it from her, so they play with themselves until they are raw and then they need to wear the latex panties to keep it all smooth and viscous, with a butt plug up their butts when their pussy is raw, they go to buy some milk to drink and pretend to be a cat lapping milk while they are on their knees with their boyfriend on the phone pretending to be doing the laundry or something never telling the men what they are doing on the phone because they can masturbate with us in the phone and the guy never knows because playing with cunt don’t make the slapping sounds as when a guy plays with his snake. They had fallen asleep spooning, and before the door was tinkered with grandma key, he would hit the fire escape of the ghetto apartment on her bed covered with a plastic lining because she peed in bed frequently because she played with herself too much, enough hand on slit until she needed the plastic sheets and the slide effect, she got up in her school chair and arched her back with a yawn with arms in the air, and sat the way females can only do because even though girls chests are bigger their chest size is smaller when the back of the man enters the equation, and they don’t have that thing between their legz that men have that would prevent a man from sitting that way. Men true men cannot sit with an arched back, it feels quite queer to sit that way, and there are very many chair designers that design chairs just for the girly arched back effect that guys have to put in garage sales just so that prospective women come by and try out the chair on the lawn and sit like a lady all pent up inside from the feeling of sitting on leather chair that makes you feel all feminine and girlishly wet on the inside. It was very difficult to be that stunning and to have a head on the shoulders that led down to the sexiest body in the school. I guess she knew spanish too well, and I was happy she didn't choose greek, because talking greek can screw up her pretty face. I don’t like girls in veils or latex masks, now or then. It is much more beautiful to form words with your tongue as you imagine latex cameltoe on your lips, or the fine smell of PVC with fabric paint that glimmers that you dollop and pile on so high to remove the bondage marks, from black belts in the sex attack that you even have to put master shine fixer on it so the glimmering silver fabric paint doesn’t peel off from future bondage. Then the shine gets more intense, so you put more master shine on it, and you go to sleep wearing this stuff because it feels cool in the summer, and you have erotic dreams all night until it turns into a nightmare thinking of Alina on her plastic pee sheets squirming and squirting out cums multiple style as only girls can do. But in the morning the pink deflated ring floatation device that you have ontop of the PVC skirt is actually just like a skirt, but there is a chemical reaction between the translucent ringed floatation device and the master shine, and you shimmy all over the bed, trying to find the source of the toxicity, and then there it is the yellow PVC skirt has melded with the pink translucent skirt, and you are stuck. In some kind of bondage with the clothes because of your love with women, all women, any woman wearing latex is hot even if they are ugly. A man is not a man until he understands women, and part of understanding women is donning the prima donnas clothes when she has gone to put out the trash, and you hope she catches you in her stuff stuff because then maybe she can become a lipstick lesbian latex lover of guys doing her in her shiny slinky girl clothes of whatever color you want to imagine him wearing because he loves you so. Peeling away the hot pink translucent skirt from the yellow PVC silver luminescent painted master shined over yellow skirt makes a noise audible for the girl friend of the neighbor above you, so you shut the fan and turn off the morning female jock that gets you hot and bothered so you can hear the crinkling of the skirt attack your neighbor’s girlfriends ears through the floor, you want to hear what she hears, the fumes of the chemical reaction between the two fabrics, if you can call them fabrics is almost like smoking Angel Dust it has the same unnatural element to it, as if you could smell the iridescence with your iris, you wish she could smell this smell of burning shiny clothes not meant to be together and there is a disorienting high of wondering whether you will ever get your male mind back, when all you can think is the reason why you like shiny clothes is because when a women wears then she is saying she wants a special kind of attention, sexual in nature, and when women can’t ask for it, they let the clothes covering up their grooves do the speaking for them, although there are some asexual fetishists, still there are kinds like me that will provide juice to shine girl clothes since the reaching of the desired effect of equating pussy with shiny clothes from that first look at Alina when I was a Sophmore brainwashed me for life being confused whether to want the pussy or the draping around it making the glisten more alluring, needing the wet look to stop the dampness from making camel toe wetter camel toe observed by all. Anyway Italian is a romance language, and greek, well, that almost sounds arabic or russian. So I am glad she was in my Italian class. I always wanted to write poetry in Italian about her grooved beige camel shiny toe, a pattern came out when the sun came from out behind a cloud, I didn’t know whether to look in the hot twatness of the shiny butterfly cocooned deflowered flower blinding me but I had to look because the room filled up like with a fog of diffused light to the extent I could look at her pussy clothed as it was without being caught, I studied the print of the shiny pussy, the precursor of latex, the prototype for making vampires out of angels, to take something that needed no augmentation, to put the spot light of sun on the elasticity of it all, to look until drool came out and you wish you could go pound the erasers on the back board in the back board in the back of the room, to get the drool on her wet twat glistening in the sun, to have the white chalk in the air cloud the air so that all men could see in the room your drool upon her glistening shiny quim freebie brunch muff munch free lunch high noon tang of poon. Then she coughs because of the chalk and her body convulses while she sits with arched back because of unnatural school girl chair curvature, and it is like her feet are tied, and she is stuck in your presence because education isn’t really why any of us are there, we want to see the hot girl run across the campus yard in the rain until her Jordache designer new dark blue jeans get wet until some guy says you better buy see thru plastic pants to cover it up so your legs don’t get all raw and inflamed and irritated by wet crotch effect of dampness caught in the rain with improper clothes. All these thoughts went through my head, while I confined my eyes under my hands and pretended at times to be looking at the calendar on the wall over her shoulder, it was good to be a restless and to be known as a geeky squirmer, to have the idiocy of youth to be fascinated in all things, so I studied her poon tang shine in the sun hoping for a sun shower so she would be wet and the sun with all it’s rainbow of Technicolor magnificence would blind me forever, to become a perpetual masturbator of two fisted fury closing my mindseye on her shiny spit shined up slitness. I was famous for taking pictures with my eyes, which is prerequisite for being a writer, which is quite natural, camels are beige aren't they, but they have a propensity to sporadically spit at men in particular, men treat camels quite brutishly, and rub them the wrong way all the time, because they like to see camels spit. But which is the right way to rub a camel? And just what makes it so easy to rub a latex camel toe? Male or female the pearl jam froth is the same, but we are talking about female camels here, beige ones mistreated by men left out in the rain of the desert because it gets so hot and humid and sticky in the desert the camel don’t know better than their master, so they are left out in the rain, and it is not acid rain that is going to eat away their putrid public fur that everyone can see, this is like the natural pure aquifiered water of the sky in a land where there is no pollution because peeps don’t live in the desert for the wars over the years, all the wells have been poisoned, and fields been salted if there is even good earth anywheres, so the camels kind of get into it, they get on all fours, and hold their head up to suck the pee of god rain down coming on their mouth, as their tail is between their legs, camel do have tails too though right, yeah, in fact if you look right at a camel toe sometimes you can see the chubbyness of ass just above if you are right behind behind upside down stuffing taxidermic style some beastial imaginings where the camel is not a woman, but a woman being stuffed like a lifeless rag doll with pig tails bouncing over their fuzzy ears. Herders shepphards all fuck their sheep, and when women wear those fancy wool sweaters above their leather pants, the wool has had cum all over it, meant for her. You don’t want to impregnate any sheep and have more sheepy slave type mutants walk the earth, it is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep, even if you have to pull out of the sheep to not make some mythological creature, like the way the central American Indians thought the conquistadors were half horse and half man, that is why they lost that war and a few thousand conquistadors took over all of Central and South America, the horse dick power of the illusion of the women must have had being Queen Victoria-ed by a horse with a dick more than a foot long donkey dick fantasy impregnation scenario where even if there was such a thing as time travel these fine shortys wouldn’t ever even think of using glow in the dark magnum condoms on the conquistador donkey dick in shining armor of the middle ages with visor blocking the glint of the sun so they could lean to the side in the saddle and see a great deal of the multi colored glow in the latex condom pistoning in and out of the Latina pussy, in and out, in and out…. She wonders why the shephard has given her the free sweater, but it isn’t her booby nipples with small areola postale poking out through the stitching, or the bra straps of clear plastic that pop through the shoulders, he is staring at her cum covered body from his spermicidal ecstasy imagining fucking her with a plastic bag over her head and kissing her until her face turns blue. To get her to the point of death, with tongues slithering touching between a plastic kiss of death. Then the dizziness disorientates and like strangulation INXS an edging of ecstasy with the power of death life death French kiss guilletine moment where the grim reaper comes with scythe, and then your man at the point of your last multiple orgasm, he has kept count, men are good with numbers, he debags your head and lets you breathe in rapture of the brink of coming in a plastic fantasy where trying to get to the sum that never seems to cum, because you can’t cum anymore, but you have to cum or you will die, so you must cum, but you can’t cum because you have to, so you have to as a girl imagine something that’ll make you come, or force you to cum, like a great writer may want you to cum for him because you are scared of his power and can never be with him because only he has the power to break your heart so, that is why when you are with your sheep man you have to think of someone else you might want to come for, someone who might have total power of controlling you and your orgasm, to bring you to life with a cum, to set you free from your bondage to the clothes you wear to keep him true to you, and if this man is non existent, if there is no man on this earth that you can think of to get you to cum, if there is no man powerful enough to mindfuck cyberspace alien abduction you will die. So you think of him, a man who knows you inside and without, knows what it takes for you to cum so you can live, one who is a beast, an animal, bestial in nature and can touch you from here, with a dick as wide as a iced coke can and as long as asparagus shoots that make you shit blood once he is done fucking your latex covered ass, he takes the plastic bag off your pretty face and you lean over and lick the perspiration on his shoulders like real man would make you feel, licking his latex induced sweat for replenishment, happy with no other thoughts in your head other than joy ecstasy, and rapture when heaven descends to eradicate all your fake made up problems of a life without drama embellished to make other people believe you are damaged goods, when you know damn well you are perfect in your latex taut tight body to body sweaty body on his hairless chest not even heaving because you are out of breath from cumming for him again and again, because he cares enough about you to let you live and let you live in perpetual joy, an immortal perpetual mummy of latex bondage… because he has taken the time to understand you because you wear latex. This is the only reason why he has let you cum because you like latex, I mean you can’t even put a sentence together, all you want to do is cum cum cum and cum all over your mutual bodies, because women need to free their bodies from out of their sexual bondage but they never find a man they can trust to let loose with, so they never let loose until they meet their Soulmaker, the one that makes them able to write form sentences, because even though he is only with you because he saw you in shined up clothes, which told him he could dominate you, now that you have used sex as a weapon on him, he is addicted to controlling your cums, and he comes to care about you, because you are a precious female, worthy of such a man, and with the love of you, he learns to love you even without latex, because latex is just for the eye, yes it is true life isn’t about sex it is about being sexy, that is why there is an X in LATEX, but the Latex was just a lure, now that you got him here in your where ever you are, your four poster bed with hand cuffs attached to your sides, he peels the latex off your body and the skin on skin effect is marvelous, it is better than silk, plastic, anything, a healthy woman without freckles and good skin that eats right has a velvet skin like baby oil all over, up and down round and round, and his hairless body of marble that has a different solidity to it, like a statue made out of melted down conquistador armor. The touch of a lover who cares about you, who knows where he licks to touch you because you have let him know where you like to be touched, and you never repeat here your G spot is again because he knows you inside and out and cares about giving you the best orgasm possible, skin on skin on plastic sheeted bed, with knowing caresses of kisses of lips full with perfect teeth behind nibbling on your nubbin till you say stop and then and only then five minutes more of this camel latex toe fantastic ecstasy, because the most important thing in life is to be touched by a hand that loves you, all of you, especially even the dumb quirks all women seem to have. This is why you cum so hard because you found a man that accept your love of latex, not the shininess of it, but the fact that it has to be shined. All other men suddenly seem to not to exist, and all you can do is think about your master, even when you are with him, but especially when he is not, because life is full and he is dragged away from you from time to time, and then when love is gone, you write to him you write for him, you tell him your fantasy of being plugged by a fine tool but a pool aboard a diving board, as he dives into your muff to get you wet to get you slick so you can get the donkey dick effect on a personal floatation device taut with air you lay on and get stuffed from sausage with skin of velvet health mojo, in the sun for the neighbors to voyeuristically hear your squeal as he puts his stink in you on you and draining your mind of fake loves that only brought you pain, erasing all the stupid idiots in life that didn’t love you like you wanted to be loved and touched and kissed and caressed, and when he has cum into you without the latex condom because you so desperately want a replica of his jeans in your tum growing into a man a master of women and a leader of men, then after he has fucked you on this wetted down plastic hot pink personal floatation device, and he cannot cum for you anymore, then he straps on a strap on and puts a strap on on because all white chicks like dick even of plastic up their bums covered not in LATEX but in lamb skin to deplume deflower your brickhouse velvet underground like a chimney sweep aught, for the female cunt look just like a sheep’s, so he has to turn you over in the sun to do you well with a dick that never tires, a plastic cock covered in lamb skin scum bag to royally do you anal as you wish your deepest fear, the sun is hot it tightens your skin as in the rash a woman gets right before and around the time she comes all over her breasts and chest, with hair follicles, little blonde hair all over your tight taut body the sunburn of Indian summer comes and the skin gets tighter and there is that tingle of a butterfly fly by flower all over your skin, so as he fucks you in your tight caboose you know it won’t loosen, because he is rimming you with a finger while the strap on in is in, so he controls your ass sphincter to the point where he knows and is knowledgeable enough to do you up their with out giving you hemorrhoids, so you don’t walk for the rest of your life funny because some disrespectful guy busted your butt for a 5 minute “O” and he is at the bottom of the muscle ridge of the interior of your fine otherworldly ass making circles with his loving hand’s finger tips touching your pussy through ass wall, the sugar walls jism and contract, whispering n your ear about the first time he set eyes on you, what you wear wearing because first impressions stick don’t they? He is doing you so well as if when you come this time you will spit out all your ovaries and lose your mother hood because you are a dirty little whore, but this time he covers your tingling skin with baby oil, he read your mind, he knows what you need, so it doesn’t feel so tight and tingly, from the sunburn of voyeuristic pool side neighborhood looky look fuck, so it just feels nice and feels right, the blonde bimbos in non shiny bikinis he keeps for his friends are side by side of the diving board in the water splashing water on your fornicating sodomistic bodies gyrating because he planned everything right, he dove into your diary to find the time of the month for best to fuck you with so that you won’t be bleeding anymore for nine months, that last multiple orgasm he gave you on the plastic sheets in the body oils and velvet skin of the power of the fountain of youth, he has given you the child to transform you from a whore to be a responsible mother, it takes a HO to become a mom, all women have to dress in LATEX to attract rich men, men who are their own bosses and make money from using their minds, women have to whore to mother, and the ones without children ask why? That is because they don’t understand men enough to know we like our women to play dress up and act like whore when we know they are not whores, they are good women, so good they are sitting on powder kegs of dynamite sexuality, and the better the person you are the more the TNT builds up under the girl like Fort Knox of liquid gold girl juice jisming for him. She is happy she busted the lock on her diary so you know every detail about her specific feminine mystique until he got her under his thumb, and there is no mist in her mystique. Even if you are a submissive sheep of a female in your little lamb of a side of beefy ass bulbous from too much cumming and too much female girl juice of hormonal man controlled cumming that because he is a man and lets you cum for him, he makes a woman out of you, a mother, a wifey, a trophy of perfection, a slave and a Mistress of dens of pleasure and dens of pain game. Anyways, rule of thumb says if camels spit it at the shephard it means they actually like you, they don't care which way you rub them, they are camels all the way from their sleeping hoods over their little heads down to their toes, of which I am told they have four, but who keeps could of how many fingers, or appendages they have on display on their cameltoes, anyways, it is difficult to count the toes because they are always moving, grooving to some music in their head, they do a little dance, and plus they are in the desert and so their appendages are buried, sunk or sinking in sand constantly, a quick sand of mud that makes suctioning sounds of evil non stop flight to oblivion even though naturalists have rugs to prevent the camel toes sinking feeling, still these are heavy beasts laden down with the finest silk from the far east, so all that shiny fabric from what is it? The juice from the mulbury I mean mulberry plant, that the worms fashion silk out of? Burry or berry I am not sure, I have never studied the berry of that silk production plant, I mean if I did, I would probably try to study that slippery little berry better by breaking off a branch to poke around with later on when I am counting camel toe, you see this well heeled man is quite a multi tasker, in a way, I can do many things at the same time, geez I've got two hands, and many fingers I like to keep buried in on important work, I have to stay busy, constantly for the devil finds things to do with idle hands, and we don't want that, so we have to use what god gave us, and operate and stay busy counting on camel toe, but my mind keeps drifting back to Alina and her beige covered grooved almost corduroy plastic pussy. Well, I think I am gonna smoke another cig because I am lost in horny reverie, looking back always to my first introduction to pussy through camel toe. Camel toe you can't count on though, it is never there when you want it so it quite happens by accident, a sudden movement, an innocent shifting of hips to avoid the seam from riding sometimes has the opposite effect it just makes it ride higher into the hilt, but what can a girl do? She likes tight pants, for the guys to stare repeatedly, intermittently, and often, focusing on.... um, yeah, because she likes the attention, she hass to wear tight pants, and then she has to put up with the camel toe, and sometimes the guy she really likes doesn't notice her so she has to lift the waistband higher until the low rider latex pants cover her belly button and up into the seam the clit keeps getting rubbed from the process and she just gets frustrated because she feels all alone in a crowded room, she doesn't notice that all these other guys are checking her out, because she is focused on his eyes, saying to the girls that he has nice eyes, there is nothing beautiful about his eyes, she just likes his eyes because she likes to look at where the eat up her body with gulpfuls of glances like that first time she noticed him noticing her, because of the crease wedge thingy poon quim squirm thang, and she thought he would like her for her hot twat but, she is frustrated, not knowing whether to pull the pants down to relieve the tension or to pull it back up again? Back and forth back and forth greasing the crease inadvertantly, waiting for his beautiful eyes to notice she has a spot right in her fat heart, her full fat heart for him, a genuine ever growing spot, good thing she isn't wearing panties, maybe she can turn him on to a new fetish? A wet camel toe. But he is wearing sunglasses, so she doesn’t know what he is looking at so she is like a plant that grows strange because lack of light, not knowing how to act because she doesn’t know what behavior she does he likes so she does them all, displays her snatch in a variety of poses. Where was I? Oh I had my hand all ontop of your pants, or inside of it. Spelling letters, numbers you like, or the word lust or love with your finger, sex or dick, like I wish a dick was here and then point at your wetness or writing my name on your slick sleek camel toe, but, whaat? You don’t know my name? You mean you let a stranger play with your latexed up camel toe? Bad girl you are going to need a spanking for stranger to have had his hand all over this soppy mess slippery under the latex for a quickie at work, but I never spanked a girl wearing latex, so you are going to have to guide me through it, just tell me how you like to be spanked, do you want my hand on your peachy ass or do you want the safety of the hermetic seal of latex to keep my masculine dog germs out of your many many canals? We can only hope Alina finds some guy to lap up the mess, things can get quite sticky down there, and to get all that ooze on the fingers it is quite unbecoming the lady, and then to wipe off this cream, this jazzy jism rhythm, it just doesn't come off you know you have to have a guys lap it up and eat it down, up and down, side to side, back and forth, fast and faster slow, because you just can't throw out girl cum, or flush it down the toilet, it is unrecyclable, and so it must be assimilated, even though eating pussy loaded with all those female hormones is bad for boys, men aren't meant to drink their piss, or really ever swallow their best friends girlfriends cum, no, then that would not be a very masculine activity if it led to consuming feminine juice .... yeah so girls need girlfriends to lap up all that pearl rubbed so hard it turned into foam, because if you play with it too long those little bubbles pop, and we don't like the sound of pussy popping. Well I better send this, because I may lose my connection, but I hear Alina is planning to wear pink latex pants tomorrow and go riding a bike in the park, you know those camera phones come in handy when you want to see what you saw again, and business cards come in handy when you can't get a guys to clean up wet cameltoe, and only a girl would do it, because it is safe for girls to eat pussy, no guys want to turn into girls after all from eating too much puss.
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……The next time I saw taut stuff was when I went to my homeland. I was not yet 18. I remember totally leaving my family at the docks of Trieste, Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia was communist. They had gas pump guys dressed up like super Mario, in yellow jumpers out of Anime fabric. Life is a game, a video game at that. They should have masturbation channels on the TV like they do for guys, in fact every channel is a masturbation channel of masturbitrices. I ordered some soup and I got one pea in it and some bacon fat. It was the best this old Italian city could offer under Tito's thumb. Well back to the port. I just saw a girl in unpolished latex, she was a whore it was neon blue, original style, the pink pockets were so small they were only there for ornamentation, and the stitching of the pockets was futuristic and so tightly bound man hands couldn’t feel around in, maybe a guy could tuck his penis in those little pink pockets, but there is that chance a guy could become a permanent member of her latex pants by getting his member stuck in her penis pockets, and then dragged around fa eva following this girl’s latexed ass as if attached from the hip to the groin. I knew I would find my family again, so I followed latex ass whore where ever it would lead. It was nice I saw her pick up a guy, and then I did rendezvous with my family no one ever the wiser about my fetish. Another time I saw latex girls on the street, she was with a rich man who knew what he wanted and she was going to give it to him. They were getting a hot dog outside the Museum of natural history on the upper west side, and it was red shined up latex, perhaps from all the sperm collection those pants had done in the past, some sisterhood of the traveling latex pants deal of sperm collection to shine the red of the latex uber good, making them brand new with pearly strings of guy cum, because the color hadn't drained out of it from too much washing away of sperm, she wanted the stink of the various beasts she had let mount her, because she wanted the timid guys to be repelled in fear of the men she had coupled with. These sperm collection device red latex pants only had to have the best guy jism on em, for ass to be territory to marked so guys could tell a mile away what cum looks like, other guys fertile virile cum, some women don’t even know what guy cum looks like so it was a signal from one woman to all men, back away unless you have the best seed on the earth, the rest of the women are oblivious to the butt shine of her assy ass ass. I didn't think about these things. The cool cat was eating a hot dog. They went into the museum and I followed her blindly. They went all around the exhibits I knew so well, so fortunately I didn't have to glance around at the stuffy display booths. They ended up by a red wood tree cut down in california, maybe a giant sequoia, either way it was a huge tree and the soon to be rich girl obviously liked the girth of the trunk. They caught on to me, because, obviously she was an experienced botonist and wanted to inspect his tree in his trunks. I had to get out of there. Another time, I remember these fondly by the way, I was on Madison Avenue, where in the day time the best looking women in the world walk the streets. My mother in her late thirties then was now working for Marimekko on Madison ave, since she no longer could model, she could sell the clothes because she was an expert on fabrics and Finnish tongue. I went out to get something to eat, and across the street was a purplish latexed girl, er woman, and I followed her wiggley butt the way to the Whitney museum before getting right up behind her and getting the eyeful I desired. It was a long walk down the Whitney, and I felt so bad with every step going back to mom that I decided no matter if it was gold latex bondage pants with buckles in silver and black, I would never stalk another woman again.
Anyway as you can see I start telling a story about my trip to Italy when I was 16 and I end up following the hooker that makes me reminisce all the times I saw Latex in the wild. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in life was not going to a ZZTOP concert. My brother and our good friend Motor went there, and Motor wasn't even into Latex, but he told me how just about every girl wanted to get backstage p ass, and had the back stage pass all over their ass wrapped in an assortment of latex color. I would figure all those girls would have broken out into some foot woship of the blues men, doing tongue calesthenics with four on the floor to see who had the longest tongue to swab the rock gods snake skin texicali boots with steel tipped shoes, if I was god and I could construct a heaven I would be the male dancer on the stage with my shirt off and getting the sloppy seconds of the latex clad vixens as the came from a quick cum, just moments after they had the Hollywood fuck of a life time. They would be putty in my hands so mesmerized by greatness they wouldn’t even see me do what ever I did with them, because they wouldn’t know I was there, I could get away with anything, maybe I could outright steal their pussy quim quim natural vibrator and have a collection of vibrating pussies I could use to massage my back with when I have written and perfected porn for too long. Yeah go to the closet and get out my collection of swiped poon tang, and put it all over my back, my face, my pelvis, everywhere covered in the flesh of perfect pussy of only hot femmes inquire within. No no, keep the uncomfortable shoes on, yes that's it and keep jumping. You gotta do what you gotta do if you want to meet the band. Funny the only guy without a beard in ZZTOP has the last name of Beard, I think he is the drummer, but I missed that concert.
So after Trieste, which used to be a part of Italy, we went to Austria, where I got my second glimpse at camel toe. At 16 I was the size I am now, but this girl that I saw made me feel so small. She was with a man, and I didn't like him at all, I didn't care if they spoke the same language, I spoke the language of camel toe, not that I knew what it was called. Whatever it was called, it was a good thing to be around. Walking around the store you figured with the denim seam would get her wet. I waited for that moment. She was wearing denim in a type of Germanic lederhosen style, so it had buckles, and straps, and she had pulled her jeans all the way up past her hips to accent the crevicing. To see the hip bones protrude like Summer's body was quite the thrill, stretched taut over the depressions hills and valleys of her frontal pubic bone, and pelvis tilt, so sexy. I pretended to buy some sausages. Anyways later on in the car we had to look for a room to sleep under goose feathers, eiderdown. But everywhere they went were these damn camera shops. They didn't look like camera shops, but then after a while my father said this is the place. It was another camera shop, and I am like how can we get goosed in a camera shop? He was like, no, David, camera means room in Austria, and then it hit me, I wish I had bought a camera in a camera shop to take a picture of the Aryan 6 foot plus Austrian brown haired leaderhosen style jean camel toe girl because well in dwarfing me by her heritage of Frankensteinism of breeding for exagerated hip and pelvis bone, as well as the public bone, it was at about my face level, to see exotic jean camel toe up close, like I had a sherlock holmes magnifying glass and I could see public hair coming out of the zipper, I wondered if she had on underwear. I didn't know what panties were yet, for all I knew women wore boxers and briefs like me. Of course her ass was riding uppa high too, but I had seen plenty of ass in my life, just not monsterous exaggerated whatever it was called. It was simply groovey.
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