Self-hate = Self-love?
Diana is a future spouse abuser.
I’ve heard it from sources. She was raised to really hate men, on some big lesbian island out in the Pacific or Atlantic, or some other big large body of water.
Only thing is, Diana isn’t straight lesbian. She’s bi-lesbian. When she sees a really strong man she wants to mount, it just really turns her on. Only thing is, her upbringing won’t let that strong man get the upper hand. No missionary for her. If she ain’t on top, she ain’t havin’ it. And that just turns me on.
I wouldn’t be able to resist a woman like Diana. I’m all about take-charge woman who won’t let me get anything over on’em. I think that’s because I’m a complete goofball, who’s like a little kid trapped in a grown man’s body. I’m fucked up. If I didn’t have a woman around telling me what to, when to pay the bills, what to get when shopping, what to buy at the clothing store, what to wear out to what event, I’d be outside like a homeless dude, eating out of a garbage can, with nerdy ass Where’s Waldo sweaters and Old Navy slacks on.
And I’d be completely wasted on weed or some other shit. It’s in my genes. My genes predetermine that I’m gonna continually fuck up. That shit comes from my father, you asshole. My ol man’s like that Papa was a Rolling Stone song. I got siblings I ain’t even met yet, and wouldn’t be able to pick out if I saw’em on the streets. And all my male relatives are either alchoholics or crack heads. That’s why I fight that shit with a strong dose of over bearing estrogen.
You get a woman who’ll treat you like shit, and force you to do only bullshit she wants to do, and will by force of will control every aspect of your entire life, you’re halfway there to living past 80. Trust me. It’s in them fuckin’ medical journals. And that’s why it’s important for fuck up guys like me to have hot pieces of man hating chicks like Diana at our side and in our beds. It keeps the forces of nature at balance.
I swear if I had a woman like Diana I’d do nothing but obey her and treat her right. Rub baby oil on her bottom. Eat chicken off her belly. Diana is the woman for me. She’d go off to work, work hard for me, do right by me, and I’d stay home and keep the house clean, cook veggie-type food for her, make her feel special. Because that would be my job. Have a glass of Nighttrain ready for her when she comes in, message her booty, I mean her back and shoulders, rub her feet, put some crappy smooth jazz on the sound system. Trust me. I’d do right by her.
And I’d accept that she’d have to beat my ass every once and a while. You know, get them daily aggressions out. She hates men, but she loves me. She’d have to beat me. But I’d know that she would also love me down later. And I’d accept it. Because I know she loves me and wants the best for me.
We’d go visit her lesbo sisters on the isle every once and a while. They’d rub on me, some secretly coming to visit me for some late night creep. Diana might even invite one or two of them for some hot sex back at the pad. It would be sweet. They’d make hot sex with me. Then, in the morning, feeling disgusted that they let a lowlife like me get some over on’em, they’d treat me like dirt, call me names, smack me around, treat me like shit.
In fact, during the sex they’d treat me like shit. Smack me on the ass, punch me in the face, give me a blow job, sit on my face, kick me in the ass, bite my nuggets, pull my hair, twist my nipples, piss in my face, call me a beyotch. Eventually they’d pull out the anal beads and go to work on me. By the morning, I’d be wet, and sticky, and funky, and all fucked up. And that would be a good thing.
What’s that McDonalds jingle, I’m Lovin’ It. Well, I’m lovin’ it. That would be the life for me, safe and snug, and happy in the protective embrace of my really hot Amazon-type chick.
I tell you peoples, what could be wrong with that?
Huh?
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