(no subject)
Now, I lust like any man my gender but unlike the loathsome masses that populate the popular areas of town, I don't express that lust in words and grunts. I don't open my mouth to pour out every idea of carnal desire that fills my tiny brain. No, I keep these wants and urges to myself, filling my beast's mind with these thoughts, letting them stew in the filth of fantasy. And I do not desire every piece of meat that crosses my path. The lean, the finely cut, meat cooked slowly and precisely the way God had intended, no. Give me flesh ground to bits, sitting in old oils with the fat still there. Meat ground til it breaks the soul and leaves the finer qualities on the floor like death. And then brought back to unlife, covered in pepper spices like whore's rouge, cheddar blonde hair with bleached white sour cream highlights. Wrap it all in a pasty, spotted skin that all too easily breaks loose. How I love to squeeze that skin, push and fondle every bit of steaming juices out onto my gaping face. And if I should be too hasty and spill, as is likely in my ape lust, I will lick and suckle those juices and flesh off of any surface they splatter on, my tongue caressing even my own fingers to pull every taste of it. And then again and again. I have, on occasion, filled my need for earthly flesh thrice in one day, and, wallowing in my feast, am still unsatisfied.
Hear me now, as I rarely express these sentiments aloud, I lust for one woman and her name is Taco Bell.
Hear me now, as I rarely express these sentiments aloud, I lust for one woman and her name is Taco Bell.