I just sat down by myself to relish the near beatificness of my sadness, where a “man” was also happening to sit as well, because people tend to commingle in public places in this sort of manner. We get to talking because he asks me what I’m reading, his British accent readily making itself apparent. I ask him if he’s Scottish, because I hate Scottish people right now (regardless of how much of this descent went into creating Lana Del Rey). He tells me no, he was born in London. It’s around this instant that his girlfriend swoops in like an eager vulture to ensure that another doesn’t peck at her bounty. Some “women” like to feign pleasantries with the other “woman” they’re threatened by–get on her good side so as to keep her enemy closer. This “woman” didn’t feel bothered to do so, instead treating me like a predator, or perhaps worse, vermin to be exterminated.
Please calm down, I do not want to fuck your boyfriend. Your boyfriend probably has crust resin on his dick and inside of his asshole. I almost admire you for putting up with him the way you seem to be able to, invariably so doing primarily because of the unfortunate ratio in life and in New York City. It’s very limiting in choice and can transform “women” into even worse versions of themselves when their claws instinctually come out to protect what they’ve worked so hard to secure (this can mean everything from not allowing herself to get fat to practicing head-giving skills on bananas–even though mangoes would be more appropriate for most of the chodes out there). But it’s important to remember, most “women” are probably just as unimpressed with your boyfriend as you are. No one wants to steal your slim chance at lasting monogamy. And if they do, rest assured it’s the “man” you’re dating who is giving out the signals of invitation for them to “attack.”
Missing A Clit 