Amicule, deliciae, num is sum qui mentiar tibi?  

beaudreau1833 70M
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9/8/2006 11:52 am

Last Read:
9/8/2006 12:16 pm

Amicule, deliciae, num is sum qui mentiar tibi?

For those of you who have forgotten your Latin, or never had this particular lesson--we certainly didn't learn this at St.B's--it means ,loosely, "honey, cuddles, would I lie to you?" Of course, love means lying, and there is no disgrace in that. Does the man want to be told that he comes too early, or that his cock is too small. Especially the latter, for he can't change that, and any woman with a brain, an ounce of kindness, and a notion that she wants to keep seeing the guy, will find other directions for his ardor. If she says," I love you but you've got a dick like an ant", he's not likely to want to use it any more. If she says "listen, I love it when you eat my cunt" or "I just got this toy"--well, if that don't get his attention, he needs two things: a preacher and an undertaker. The fact is I suspect he knows his cock is small. He may not know how small--unless he's bi, but he has that suspicion. Some guys like that I suspect become misogynists.

They begin to dislike women for needing the thing they cannot supply. Naturally, it isn't the woman's fault they prefer to ENJOY their fucking. Seems understandable to me. So a wise woman lies to a lover with a flaw he cannot mend.

A wise man lies as well. I had a lover a few years ago who was nearing fifty and had had a couple children. Really wonderful woman, who went back to her ex-husband for another jolt of misery(another story). We had wild uninhibited sex--she had a thing for being spanked, I don't either as spanker or spankee, but I believe in a heterodox approach to sex. She was little and couldn't accommodate me in her mouth too well, so that wasn't perfect, but we did just about everything else. Naturally I frequently licked her pussy, and never once told her that when she came she would taste slightly of piss. She must have been at the early stages of incontinence. No it wasn't more than a transient taste, if it had been a lot, I don't know if I could have kept it up. But it was endurable and in my fondness for her, I shut up. What earthly point is there in telling her? She'd never forgive me for noticing, and probably never want to see me again. At the very least, worrying about it would have made enjoyment of that pleasure impossible.

When I think of her now, it is fondly, for she was nice. I also think of her truly repulsive husband, and, figuring she's really incontinent now, I enjoy the notion that every time he eats her, he must get a cup of piss.

Serves the bastard right

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