a strand of death
Hi Alice,
I am sorry, but I had to fantasise what you looked like. You had black hair made of snakes that don’t bite, only kiss. You had big boobs (not too big) and a fine butt. You kept telling me – in my fantasy – that you couldn’t kiss me, that it will be the death of me. You also told me that if I wanted you to talk, I needed to lost (lose) my voice. Like Ariel, the Mermaid. And so I pretended to lose my voice while you screamed all kind of pleasurable obscenities to me. Orgasm was close at hand. I had to hide the smell of my cum from my siblings this morning. I was sitting on the couch when the familiar smell of my cum wafted up to my nose. I quickly took a pillow and covered up a little, shielding the smell from my brothers who sat on the same sofa. It was not long before I hurried to the shower, to purify myself, as He is pure (John et. al. +95). I will be unclean until the evening (Moses et. al. -538).
I hope you are not too disgusted with me Alice, my dove, my lady death. Your eyes were filled with light, your body a chalice, wine-filled (Solomon et. al. -971). You make me want to go buy some non-alcoholic beer.
I am scared of spending money for the local gym. 50 bucks a week! I feel like I am losing my life (Matthew et. al. +85), my wages are my life, after all. Mammon feels like my master (Matthew et. al. +85) as far as I know it. Money seems to have more value than the giver of its value – Us.
Take care, Alice. I hope you will come to take me away with you. I no longer need to live in a dream after that. In the deep sleep of work. Watch. Clean. Eat. Sleep. Train. And the cycle continues. You are my dream, after all.
Regards,
Azarael (my pen name, a derivation of Azrael, angel of death (Wikipedia et. al. 2022))
PS INTERNET I AM WRITING THIS IN THE STUDY ROOM WHERE ALL MY SIBLINGS CAN JUST WALK BY AND WONDER WHAT KIND OF SHIT AM I WRITING … courtesy from your local, sex-starved, mid-twenties virgin.