by Ms. Hot Tamale
Okay fuck buddy, let’s get this right: we fuck each other as often as is convenient and in return we do each other the courtesy of not having feelings for each other, right?
So, I have to ask: Did your male period suddenly arrive in the middle of the night? Are you cramping, honeybunch? Because you’re acting like a real fucktard.
Last night we moaned and fucked, and this morning for some fucking reason you’re moaning and whining like a little crybaby — right out of my vajajay’s good graces.
Frankly, I don’t want to hear about your idea for an eco-friendly chain of gas stations, how you were adopted and abandoned, or your plans to travel to Haiti and save little orphaned children. It’s whiny and annoying like that wet blanket of a singer from Coldplay. Maybe worse.
Awww, don’t cry.
What I want is a certain horse-like appendage to make me walk a little bowlegged, and a tongue to sweep me into any orgasms that your (very able) cock leaves behind. But not in a sweet, slow softly lit kinda way as we French kiss in the sun-dappled sunrise. Especially not before we’ve brushed our teeth. Ick.
I really don’t want to hear about the drama in your camp. I really don’t want to hear about that epiphany you had. I really don’t want to hear about, well, anything about your life back in whatever shitty town you live in.
To quote The Fugitive: I don’t care. I don’t care about anything you have to say, unless it’s spoken directly into my cunt while I strangle you with my thighs.
I don’t want you to make me eggs benedict in the morning; that’s what I have my gay campmates for. I don’t want you to sing me a song, that’s what I have my hippy campmates for. My priorities with you, if they weren’t for some fucking reason already explicitly clear, are: 1) have you fuck me and 1a) have you leave.
So, fuck buddy, if you have to spend the night, I really don’t want or require any physical contact with you unless it leads to 1) more fucking or 1a) you leaving.
In summary, please don’t tell me about your novel. Don’t tell me about your last girlfriend. Don’t tell me about anything, unless it’s directions on how better to pleasure me, and I promise to do the same.
So, are you a fuck buddy or a fucktard?
Now let me shut you the fuck up by sitting on your face.