Mutually Assured Fuck Fest

And I'll be launching on warning and I'll even decorate with crepe paper streamers if you wish, I just want to party (on your pussy, baaaaby) with you like it's 1999 and I was 19 then, at least towards the end, and though they say you're only young once, I can remember way, way back to a few hours ago, when I was 33 and young and dumb and full of come now, Mi Puerco, everything's gonna be just fine, I promise, shhh, I'm on it, so no rush, just hush, little baby, don't say.

A word?  I got more than one so dispatch with your singular articles (of clothing) and lay your pretty hand in my lap and let me stroke it how you like and let me coo them all into your ear, breathy and slobbery, while I chew on your (prefrontal) lobe, helping you differentiate between conflicting thoughts, like, good, better, fucking don't go there! and I'll just ask one thing of you: is it real, Son, let me know it's real, Son, if it's really real, and I'll carve my name into your chest, one of your many (life) tattoos, like that surgery scar there and that road rash here, and I have them, too, one perfectly Bic-sized, wish it had been in my throat instead because, show of hands, who else in here thinks tracheotomies are sexy as hell?

Hey, where'd everyone go?  No matter, I'll be over here, busying myself with orchestrating the next Now's apocalypse, and if the precolumbian were so fucking prescient, how did their doomsday scenarios not involve white men, variola major, and variola minor?

You made M glow; but I'll never glow the way you glow; though ... I could totally get into some crucifixion, so let's just let the jury hang on that one, k?  Our fail-deadly fetishism will draw blood yet.