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| My wetness, my throbsome, my Shelby, You are my peanut butter. Crunchy on the outside, but smooth within. If you were a parrot, I'd be your sunflower seeds. Nibble me! These gruntings are no more than squeals of anguish. But hear them, hear them my impassioned piglet. Let us not linger longer my lovely lick. Let us loll in languid laps. Cast of your dread of destiny my meaty pie. Let me sauce you and bite deeply into your enclosing pastries. Surely there is no counter to my entreaties. Fear not to be hoist on a petard. Is there not some little part of you that stiffens excitedly at the thought of our bliss? Comingle we must, with rutting abandon. Abandon the garments of civility. Stand proud uncloth'd of approbation. I am expired and limp with longing. Heed my call |
