NUDES ARE A VIRUS. I SCREEN, YOU SCREEN, WE ALL SCREEN FOR INFECTION. I DON’T
KNOW WHAT I WANT MORE – GUY’S PULSING SCHLONG, OR THE HORRIBLE CURSE THAT
WILL PLAGUE ME FOREVER. TO BE PERMANENTLY ALTERED AT THE MOLECULAR LEVEL.
TO FEEL THE SENSUAL BRUSH OF BACTERIAL APPENDAGE AGAINST MY SOFTEST PARTS.
ACCEPT ENTRY FROM CROOKED PHALANGES. CORRUPT THESE DIGITAL BONES. IF
THERE WAS AN INFINITE FLAVOUR, ONE THAT POOLED IN MY STOMACH LIKE CUM, ONE
THAT WAS LESS ABOUT MY PLEASURE THAN I WANTED. IF I COULD PRY NUTRIENTS
FROM MY CURDLED SHAME.
TO STUDY UNDER THE MIXMASTER. TO LOOK HOT DOING IT. TO SHARE MY INFECTION
WITH FRIENDS AND HAVE IT NOT BE WEIRD. I WANT TO BE SICK. I WANT TO BE FED. I
WANT TO BE BERATED ON LIVE TV BUT GORDON RAMSEY’S NOT MY TYPE. I WANT THAT
FIERI FURY. THAT DRIVE-INS AND DIVES DICK. THE HEAT FROM HIS FLAMING SHIRT. THE
DROOLING FERVOUR OF A MAN WITH TASTE.
MY DOCTOR SEES DESIRE AS DISEASE. I HURT ALL THE TIME AND THEY DON’T KNOW
WHY. IF THEY COULD SEE MY NUDES – THE ONES OF ME FRESHLY BASTED, PRONE ON
THE DINER BENCH. IF THEY COULD SEE HOW HAPPY I AM.
📱IAN MARTIN is dying. See the gruesome details at WWW.IANMARTIN.ROCKS.