Date: January 16th, 2016 2:54 PM Author: Henna indian lodge
this one chick got pissed at me once when we were fourteen or fifteen because she had some long unhinged screed written on her t-shirt and i tried to read the whole thing, basically staring at her tits the whole time. they were probably D-cups, just a bit larger than average, but the amazing thing was how active and bouncy they were. that was the amazing thing about all of us back then, i guess. probably what i should have done, what my blood was telling me to do, was to raise an army and destroy any male who was competing with me for occupancy of that tender, fertile body. what ended up happening was i went home and played starcraft. now i post as a pumo so things turned out okay anyway i guess
Date: February 7th, 2016 6:57 PM Author: Henna indian lodge
1. attend high school
2. glance at young, perky tits filling tight t-shirts
3. glance away since it's impolite to stare, especially at a high-schooler's tits
4. think about something else, forget about tits
5. wait fifteen years
6. find those selfsame tits and the t-shirt they were shoved into like clothes for that trip where you insisted on only bringing one backpack but you really should've brought two but you found a way to just stuff them in - find those tits seared into your memory, brands burnt blacker and deeper into your true, inner skin than any arguments you had with parents, any rivalries you had with siblings, any loyalties made, lost, betrayed with close friends; a few dozen, maybe a hundred maximum pairs of tits, in other words, that have a complete and comprehensive claim on you, that haunt the dreams of your dreams, the tits of which all the tits you see in high-def streaming pornography and on playful pictures exchanged with dating-app matches are only phantoms, only ghosts, only the shadows of the unseen and now-dead tits of your youth, titty tragedies from a time before you knew even the first thing about those glances to and then away - before you knew what you know now, that you must discover your desires early and disclose them to their objects with full honesty and confidence because if you don't, the world will find them for you, and frustrate you in their pursuit, and ruin them in the meantime - those mammary ghosts, those milkable dreams now veined and heavy and hard to excite, those metaphor phantasms of your sagging life, the practice of law just commas and deadlines, the big city glamour just rats and the homeless, the top college prestige just loans and blurred memories of women at parties whose tits, in the end, had already lost the magic you think those first tits, those proto-tits, must somehow have had, if only you'd spoken instead of glancing away and forgetting on purpose the knowing imperative your far-smarter body imparted to you.