when the head of my manhood is lodged past her Adenoids

I have been asked what it is I mean when I mention or recite my penchant for throat. See I have been informed that as a man I have been blessed and albeit I enjoy licking and the temperament of a tongue sliding along the surface of my veins, I do require a bit more. I have decided to call this prerequisite throat. So before I attempt to explain, children, the frigid, the weak minded and the inhibited, please do not read any farther.

I cannot lie, there is something about a woman’s oral cavity that makes me swell and stiffen in more ways than one. Although there is nothing better than having some one gesticulate on your manhood and turn your shaft white with their elixir of contentment, the warmness of the throat will never ever be a source for comparison. I mean it is refreshing to have one gyrate their wetness intensely, and tightly, such that one can feel the crease of your hips wedged against them, stretching, opening and expanding the insides of their soma to the extent that their feet and skull becomes one.

Cause truth be told, to me, aint nothing like leaning back against the sofa and unzipping my pants; being exposed to the elements regardless of inside or outside and her reaching for the base of my shaft. Watching her deliberate motions, up and down the length of me until she feels my veins pulsating and matching her desire to lodge me beyond her Adenoids and tonsils. Her mouth against my pubic hair as I clutch the back of her head and hold it there as I stroke her throat. Maybe even blocking, constricting the passage of her larynx and air ways making her come up for air as if in the ocean.

It is my pleasure to oblige her to extend her jaw and encourage her to press her lips together around my mass. Especially if I am beveraging, wine or tequila, and inhaling, hoping she can feel my veins pulsating, before the baby batter makes her light headed. Her head against the wall. Yes, this is what call throat and I can see it now, the delight of her eyes rolling in the back of her head, and of mines looking up towards the ceiling. Bud Powell never sounded so better.

Mroe politics, history and economics starting next week – had to get that out folk.

Pomegranate pu**y

point of order:
1] It’s clear i'm man of the year and I wont go near them hot stage lights VAN HUNT

2] again as I said before some folk think not getting caught in a lie is the same as telling the truth

3] More Funktry muzk, 4give jones, pause if u don’t like folk

First I would like to apologize for the title, but the rectitude’s of my sexuality have gotten the best of me for the time being, so forgive me, As a man I have desires, needs, wants, passions and penchants that, let us say, define my spiritual exchange with women. This exchange is mandatory in my view and mandatory preferably to the extent of at least 5 times a day. I acknowledge this in the simplest of terms for when I go to sleep I am rigid against my navel and I wake up the same way.

Prior to this vacuous state, I was involved and albeit the object of such stimulation stimulated me, even to the point of every time I drove my vehicle orally and to the end result of child. She had an epiphany and made a promise to God – so she said, not to have any such activity until across the ubiquitous broom. I believed her. But this is not the point. The point is that I have desires, needs, wants, passions and penchants.

I can never be with a woman, another woman that doesn’t want to French, Kiss, swallow manhood, or even let me lick the kitty. Yep, Before had one that said they were disgusting and for dogs – so I barked.

Yep, I’m writing about expectations, and I aint afraid to say what I expect when a woman deals with folk. I’m man all man, and don’t get mad if I feel like dreaming about the Orion nebula when I’m getting throat, or if I take a liking to long slow stroking your eyeballs into submission. Don’t get mad at me because I want to cut up apples and sprinkle cinnamon in your bath water or if I want to sprinkle cinnamon or ginger and honey on your nipples and lick them off. I’m just me, and if you down with folk, that means you like long thickness, deeply buried in the darkness of your soma, and wont even get mad if I cut open a Pomegranate, and place the seeds, in your wetness and retract them with my tongue – that’s passion, it aint nasty. Let me stop. vote