Stop fucking mewing. Do you realize that looksmaxxing is a worse plague on this earth than COVID?! You probably can't even read what I'm saying because instead of your hands being used to write in school you're making that same fucking motion hundreds of times every day. I bet your arm muscles can't even move your arm down below chin level anymore because of what you did. Your mother gets a call from your school. They say that her 7 year old son has not been learning and has been making a strange motion with his hand. They are scared that you are affiliated with some sort of gang. Soon, you are taken to a maximum security prison, where you are put in solitary confinement for until you stop pointing at your chin. You start to starve to death because your hands couldn't physically move downwards enough to reach your food. You're taken to the hospital, where they preform emergency surgery to remove both of your arm's tendons. Finally, the world is saved from your cringe.
Applebee's and Chili's are the restaurants of sadness and apathy. The emotion of Outback is rage. You're a 53 year old father of two working in commercial truck leasing. You've been working your ass off to repay the vacation money you took from the college fund, and you've been neglecting the wife. You want to give her a nice meal. She likes that guy from animal planet what got shish-kabobed by a stingray, so why not outback? You've been everywhere else in the last few years. She wants to spend eight American dollars on an onion, and you let her because the fucking point of the night is to make her happy, but you can't fucking stand it. The cheapest fucking vegetable in the world and she thinks it's god damn special. You both get steak. Your first bite tastes fine, but you keep chewing. You again continue chewing. You're genuinely confused by the amount of gristle still in your mouth. What few grains of beef that manage to slip out are more an insult than a reward. What the fuck are you supposed to do with the fucking gristle? You fake a cough and drop the wad of gristle on the ground so the wife doesn't complain about it being on your plate. That's when you see. She's staring at you. She doesn't know what to do with her own gristle, and she's noticed you somehow don't have gristle. Whatever she decides you did, you know you're not getting your blow job this month. The smug prick of a waiter offers you desert. It's probably some dumbass name like Kangaroo cheesecake, but you don't hear a word of it. The wife orders one for each of you. You drive home. She thanks you for taking her out. She goes to bed. You get a beer and turn on Fox News. You hear her softly crying, and you're just too fucking tired to care anymore. Maybe she'll fuck that guy from church again and get a little happiness in her life. All you know for sure is that Outback steakhouse should be burned to the ground.
🇧🇷 ATENÇÃO PATRIOTAS 🇧🇷 EM RESPOSTA AO AUTORITARISMO 📵🤚🏻 DAS REDES SOCIAIS 📵👨💻 NOSSO CAPITÃO 🔰 JAIR MESSIAS BOLSONARO 🔰 CONVIDA TODOS A DELETAREM SEUS PERFIS EM FORMA DE PROTESTO 💥💥 SE TRUMP NAO TEM TWITTER NÓS TAMBEM NAO TEMOS 👊🏻👊🏻 REPASSE E DELETE IMEDIATAMENTE 💚💛
34M
It started when I was 18 when a 45 year old woman I’d met at a bar took me home. She lived in a house share single bedroom with a single bed and rugby union posters all over her bedroom wall and a bulldog wearing an anxiety vest that was nutting off while I did what I had to do. Her pussy was sealed shut like an Egyptian tomb and her only excuse for the cobwebs and plume of dust was “it’s…been a while”. I was really let down by that experience as I thought all cougars were rich honeys with their own mansion.
Since then I’ve worked my way to the top of cougar mountain and at 34 have found it to be the absolute peak. 34 is a prime age for many reasons, you can easily pick up a girl in her 20s. Girls in their 30s are so desperate for a family that you have the pick of the litter when you want a serious relationship. Sub 30 y/o was typically off limits for all but the filthiest of cougars, however at 34 I’ve found the doors to Pussy Palace are flung wide open from all angles, but they say the older the berry the sweeter the juice, and it’s prime season for cougar hunting. (Cougars to me are 40+, I prefer 45-62)
I have moved to London and the quality of cougars is just next level fellas. If they’re not some rich CEO then they’re a divorcee on a hot girl summer. 30+ women were a good training ground in my younger years, but 40+ is where the magic happens boys. And if you’re an absolute dog like myself, you won’t even let 70 stop you.
I know what you’re thinking, that’s fucking gross, but some of these women are still in tip top shape, I would never hook into anything less than a cougar that could still be on the cover of a women’s health magazine and I just can’t get enough.
Anyone else in the same boat? I don’t want to enter into a committed relationship because I just can’t stop railing cougars. I joined a swingers site a few years ago and found dozens of women who wanted to get drilled in front of their husbands who beat off in the corner, I always found it a bit weird but I think that was the shame I had back then, these days I just have to accept who I am and do it for the cucks. Where all my gilf brothers at?
6.8” to the bone, 5.5” girth, uncut
Own a LAS-16 Sickle for home defense, since that's what Super Earth's founding fathers intended. Four Automatons break into my house. "What the devil?" As I grab my flowing cape and laser rifle. Blow a golf ball sized hole through the first bot, it's dead on the spot. Draw my LAS-7 Dagger on the second bot, miss it entirely because it's one small beam and nails the neighbors dog. I have to resort to the autocannon mounted at the top of the stairs loaded with armor-piercing rounds, "FOR SUPER EARTH" the armor-piercing round shreds two bots in the blast, the sound and extra shrapnel set off car alarms. Fix saber and charge the last terrified rapscallion. It bleeds out waiting on the SEAF to arrive since triangular saber wounds are impossible to stitch up. Just as the founding fathers intended.
Topaz is just perfect. Every single thing about her is admirable. Her cute and small face, her brilliant eyes that resemble gems, just like her name, her short and beautiful silvery and silky hair, adorned by taints of red that fit just so perfectly, her small hairpiece that makes it so her hair stays perfectly tidied... What is there not to love? Plus, her attitude is just lovable. How funny she is, the way she speaks and conveys all emotions, how she always seems to be having fun...
And I haven't talked about her body. It's just impeccably perfect. Her big and round ass that I'd want to have on my face 24/7, the perfectly sized breasts that can be somewhat seen from her outfit, her slim and curvy shape that evokes that sense of sensuality... Everything just fits perfectly. And her thighs? OH MY FUCKING GOD. DON'T GET ME STARTED. THE MOLE. AND THE STRAP. OH MY FUCKING GODNESS. As if her thighs weren't perfect enough. So plumpy and meaty, I just want to have them on me at all times. I want to bury my head in there and die from asphyxiation, just so that I get to have those thighs close to me. I'd constantly stare at the mole and get jealous that I'm not it or that strap. Just look at her thighs and tell me that the strap isn't working its ass off to hold her massive thighs.
And now, the best part. Her cock. Her big meaty cock. I want to chocke on it while she wraps her legs around my head, consequently being crushed by her thighs. I want to simply please her and be everything to her. I'll be her boyfriend, her husband, her sex slave, her co-worker, her assistant... I'll do everything. And then, when she gets tired and gives me a few seconds of rest, I'll ask her to cuddle with me. I'll rest with her body close to mine, and slowly close my eyes. She'll then start relentlessly fucking me while I sleep, and I'll instantly wake up, only to feel her cock constantly thrusting inside me while she fills me with her seed.
