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Dancing with Delicious
2002-07-07 // 2:36 a.m.

Developments in cuntland: We went dancing last night, and there is nothing like dancing to make me feel like A Sexy Mother Fucker.

I was wearing a skirt, long, but a wrap skirt, so I could turn it in to slutsville whenever I wanted. I flirted with That Girl, the one from earlier, and shook my ass like there might have been a tomorrow but I wasn't very interested in it.

We talked about the fucking from the previous night.

She told me she could still feel it; I told her I think I was bruised. In a good way.

She asked if it had been what I'd expected. A silly question, really, but I told her yes.

What I wanted to say: You fucked me, and it was good. I came. You came. The things I was saying, I meant every fucking one of them. It was good. Let's go again.

She was giving me a look all night, a good look, a look that made me think all was right. That the sex was alright. No, good. That the sex was good.

She wants me, I'd say, as much as I want her. Which, while not a great deal, is certainly enough to go at it again.

Long Live the Cunt!


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