Sometimes, I will just come to mind. Different things about her. She’s married and so am I and we live 000 of k’s from each other but I can’t help thinking that if we’d meet again we’d become lovers. the memory of pounding her tight petit ass, pulling her towards me, the sounds she made, her face—lost in pleasure, the guttural moaning—how she said, “No one’s fucked me like that since I was 14”, and how she later denied it. Her love of anal. Her love of roughness. Our long nights of fucking, falling asleep and then fucking again. We really should meet again to fuck our brains out.
Jimena has money. she has lot’s of money. She’d rather not owe me any favors and just settle her bill. never condone rich people’s debt. they don’t understand it and think instead that I’m trying to manipulate them into feeling gratitude, which maybe I was.
Also, it is a sign of saying “no” to prosperity.
Stay on track.
The Prosperity Protocols call me to initiate Operation FAV (Fuck Antonella and Vanessa). In July we’re going over to Argentina to visit her family. Antonella is one of her friends who is hot and into pole dancing, with strong thighs I want. Vanessa is her cousin, my age, and a wila—I want her too. This is going to take some discipline and skill.
Within my understanding of sexual prosperity I have to try and develop my capacity to enjoy sex with as many women as possible—learning, accepting, growing. I have found that women want this too, or that at least many of the women I’ve encountered want that, to fuck, and that in many cases the problem is more in our own heads than in reality.
This blog has now become NSFW and probably not the type of reading I’d like to write but some of these things, the things that are happening in life just have to be put down. It’s just for biographical purposes, for myself, not much hope of it being useful for others. So here we go.
Woke up. Just lying there for a while, probably somewhere around four, decide to get up but also to fuck. So I start grabbing her, we kiss, she’s sleepy, I’m on top, she grabs my cawk and puts it on her pussy, she’s tight and dry, we go slow, real slow, we get the head in—we start fucking. It’s good, intense, we’re trying not to make noise. I feel the animal in me. Her parents, visiting for the holidays, are next door while I dick my wife, she’s such a horny little slut. She came good. I later went into my studio and took a pic of the cawk and liked it.
I took a shower and dressed early because we have a female guest. She’s a socipathic cheapskate with whom it is interesting to talk to, especially about photography, politics and soccer. I don’t care about soccer. She’s got that coked up paranoid look in her eyes, the one that comes from a life of whoring and slutting, the jaded look left behind after being used and abused for years.She’s planning on living off us for as long we’ll have it, but Mariela’s given her the deadline—two days. I could get up at night, walk into the room we’ve given her, wake her up and give her the cawk. Fuck her skinny ass hard and break her. She’d stay, she’d like it, but it would be dangerous, she’s a leech. She woke up, was an ass again before and during breakfast. I have no lust for her. When she left we felt instantly at ease. We had beef empanadas for lunch in bed. I love Mariela’s cooking. We then made love—the baby asleep in his room. We fell asleep and then got up to go for groceries.
And all of a sudden, with only a slight premonition of worries to come during the night before, I saw the grown-up me come back, open the front door, step in, drop the travel satchel on the floor—which is black of course—and mutter, “What the fuck has this jerk been doing to our life?”
Do I feel remorse? Yes, if I could play it over I’d do it differently. That much is true, and yet, I won’t call and say I’m sorry because I’ve made that mistake before. It doesn’t matter who I’m talking about or what the specific situation was, it’s a repetitive scenario; it’s happened before, it will happen again. Tomorrow is her birthday, we’ll all act normal.
A man enters a restaurant with his pregnant wife and 2-year-old daughter. It is an Argentinean restaurant; he is Argentinean himself. He orders a For-4-BBQ tray. The waiter warns him they are exceptionally large portions but the man’s mind is unchanged. The order is brought and he proceeds to calmly eat it almost completely. Twenty-five years later his daughter tells me this story and laughs through it. This woman’s name is Mariel.
A mistake was made and we were locked out of the account. My brother tried three or four different solutions, none of them worked and there seemed no chance of rectifying. He was frustrated and as usual directed his irritation at us while he tried to force a “cut-our-losses” drastic solution. I disagreed and called a meeting after which he ended up dropping the whole thing on me.
I decided to call Helena who sounded happy to hear me. I explained the situation and what needed to be done. She told me she’d get back to me in 20 minutes. Fifteen minutes later she called and announced it was solved, the account was restored. I thanked her, she said it wasn’t necessary.
It’s never felt so good to ask for a favor.