I have this ideal. It says and perpetuates within me that every man wants stability. They want a good women to go home to. Well, every man except for gay men, that is. They want that sweet little girl at home, whom they care for and love.
But somewhere, deep inside that male brain, they want a girl they can bend over their desk and fuck. Just, fuck. And be done. Pull her by her hair, hold her arms down, and fuck her. They want that little slut that will sit on the trunk of their car while her foot plays with his cock. She would cross and uncross her legs in a mini skirt that would make a sailor blush. She owns no underwear. If she does, they're thongs.
They want her for the moment of excitement. They want her for the freedom of nutting inside her, and walking away. They want her because she is both disposable and in disposable. He will never fall in love with her, but he'll fall in love with the way it feels to crave her body, and then get it.
There is the occasional unmarried lonely man who wants to cuddle with his slut. I am not that girl. Bend me over, grind your cock into me, cum in my tight, wet, twat. Then I have to go. I have a list of things to do, always, and when your time is up, it's up. I'll pretend like it's my first time, if you like, but my cock sucking will give me away right off. I'll wear thigh highs and shoes strippers even dislike. I'll put my hair in pig tails and wear a pleated skirt. I'll rub your cock with the ball of my foot. I'll do just about anything. But I will not, I repeat, I will not stay and cuddle, sir.
I am not your girl. I belong to no man.
But somewhere, deep inside that male brain, they want a girl they can bend over their desk and fuck. Just, fuck. And be done. Pull her by her hair, hold her arms down, and fuck her. They want that little slut that will sit on the trunk of their car while her foot plays with his cock. She would cross and uncross her legs in a mini skirt that would make a sailor blush. She owns no underwear. If she does, they're thongs.
They want her for the moment of excitement. They want her for the freedom of nutting inside her, and walking away. They want her because she is both disposable and in disposable. He will never fall in love with her, but he'll fall in love with the way it feels to crave her body, and then get it.
There is the occasional unmarried lonely man who wants to cuddle with his slut. I am not that girl. Bend me over, grind your cock into me, cum in my tight, wet, twat. Then I have to go. I have a list of things to do, always, and when your time is up, it's up. I'll pretend like it's my first time, if you like, but my cock sucking will give me away right off. I'll wear thigh highs and shoes strippers even dislike. I'll put my hair in pig tails and wear a pleated skirt. I'll rub your cock with the ball of my foot. I'll do just about anything. But I will not, I repeat, I will not stay and cuddle, sir.
I am not your girl. I belong to no man.
