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I STILL cannot say enough GOOD THINGS about our BULL (Demetrius)
| Mainlining the $ecret Truth of the Univer$e | 05/14/25 |
Poast new message in this thread
Date: May 14th, 2025 9:11 AM Author: Mainlining the $ecret Truth of the Univer$e (You = Privy to The Great Becumming™ & Yet You Recognize Nothing) Poasted by Mainlining/Boom/Evan/Etc., from a sagging recliner in a Louisville, CO, condo, circa 2025.
Android Chrome Tabs: WebMD, AARP, RedTube.
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Brother$… my knees crack when I kneel now.
Back in 2013, Demetrius was the God of our bedroom.
His boots on my chest, his growl — “THATS. WHY. YOU. GAY” —sent me "to the moon." My wife’s moans were a symphony, and I was the conductor, rock-hard on my fold-out chair, jizzing on his crusty washcloth like it was my life’s work.
We were young, dumb, and full of cum.
Fast forward to 2025.
I’m 45, she’s 43, and Demetrius… he’s pushing 50, still hung, but his back spasms if he goes Missionary too long.
Last session, he popped a Motrin mid-thrust, muttered, “Fuck, my Sciatica.”
My wife’s still a fox, but her hips creak, and she needs reading glasses to check Tinder for new Bulls.
Me? My boner’s a part-time gig—shows up late, leaves early. I’ve got ED pills in my sock drawer, but they give me heartburn.
We tried a Session last week.
Same setup: me naked, chair by the bed, clutching his worn-out Nikes (he switched from boots—bunions).
He’s pounding, she’s moaning, but it’s… different.
Her “You like watching, don’t you?” feels like a $cript we forgot the lines to.
He’s sweating, not from passion but from “that damn Prediabetes.”
I’m staring at the ceiling, counting cracks, wondering if my prostate’s swollen again.
Then it happens.
He pulls out, limps over, drops his Nikes on my lap. “Hold these, champ,” he grunts, but his voice cracks like my knees. I’m not aroused, just… tired. My dick twitches, but it’s more muscle memory than magic.
When he creampies her, he wheezes, “That’s… why… you’re… old.”
We all laugh, but it’s hollow, like a COVID-19-era Zoom happy hour.
After, we don’t reconnect like we used to.
She’s on her phone, swiping.
He’s icing his back, talking about his 401(k).
I’m Googling “low testosterone Colorado clinic.”
We’re not Cuckees and Bulls anymore—just three people racing the clock, pretending we’re still 30.
Evan39, you get it, bro. You’re out there in $afeway, buying expired Chobani, feeling the years in your joints.
Mainlining, you saw The Great Becumming™ in 2013, didn’t you? Tell me you’ve got a worse one — some 2025 cuck session where the cage rusted shut.
This isn't 2013.
The washcloth’s frayed, the boots are gone, and our youth’s a Craigslist ad we can’t repost.
But we keep trying, brothers. Because what else is there?
This is fine. |