Well, I hear this shit a lot.
“Sure TRD, you are into rough sex. Sure you look like a Greek God with pectoral muscles carved out of wood. Sure your penis is the size of a Congo snake. Sure you are so smart and funny and just fucking amazing and wet my slutty panties every single night and all I want is your big thick man rod up inside me, but you really are not all that ‘Romantic‘”.
OK, other than the rough sex part, I don’t really hear that stuff anywhere but in my own head. But, I still hear it, nonetheless. So it counts, right? It’s like the tree in forest analogy. You know, if you have sex with a tree in the forest…
Wait, fuck, that’s not it. I need to just stick to normal porn. Anyways…
Alright. So, the truth is I am a god damn glutton for romance. It’s kinda hard to convey that though over an NSFW blog, with slobbery dicks blocking up the frame. Besides nobody wants to see a GIF of lighting candles and playing Enya, so let me bestow upon you my fucking version of romance, how I see it.
Mine looks like Westley’s. By the way, if you don’t know who Westley is…Immediately you must, Stop, collaborate and listen. Ice is back…fuck, now I got that song in my head. Anyways. Watch Princess Bride. Movie fucking rocks.
I absolutely adore women. Everything about them. I am and have always been this way. Since I first had a girlfriend at church camp, I have been completely fixated and love love love the idea of love.
But. In blog form, how do express that?
Seriously though, the reason I am such a nutcase when I am finally ripping a woman’s clothes off, squeezing that yummy neck, shoving my Congo snake inside her (ok, maybe an overfed North American garden snake), is because I am absolutely 100% in a romantic fit in my head over this beautiful, wonderful, absolutely amazing person I see in front of me.
So yeah, strap in cupcake. I am gonna pound my want into you. If you know a better way, I am listening.
But to me, the way I can feel closest to you is with my hard cock right up inside you as you lose your fucking mind, cum for Daddy, not once, but thrice times two.
I want you wrecked.
Holding your beating pussy as your hair sticks to your neck and you can only conjure up saying “Fuck” as I laugh inside at what I just did to your magic little pussy.
But why did I do it? Why did I need to? Why will I beat myself up if I don’t.
Because I am a fucking romantic.