You haven't been thinking about me all that much, have you?
Since you and me fucked your wife, your girlfriend together. And in the beautiful glow of you two, lying together in your bed, you felt such peace. Maybe this was all you needed. To get the bitch out of your system. To get me out of your mind. Did you beg god for it? In that one moment? When I slid my cock out of your mind. To leave you empty. And satisfied. Did you beg god that this may be over?
You love women. You love your girlfriend. You love your wife.
All of this was just a fantasy, wasn't it? Dear god, you have it finally out of your system. A cock is no longer as appealing. There is no frenzy anymore. This is you. Without that desire. You are not gay. You love cunt. Filthy, decadent, squirting and gushing cunt! You love to drink from it. Let it wash over you. This is your well of perversion. You let it quench your thirst.
You will never need another.
You are not gay.
But I'm still here, aren't I? I may have left your mind for a little while, but I'm still here.
And I was watching you. Even after I had my nails in you, scratching you, fucking you.
I was watching you talk to your wife. I watched you smoke. She asked for a cigarette herself, didn't she, my darlings? After all, such a fuck deserved one. And let me tell you a secret about your wife, your girlfriend, my darling bois.
Most of them have smoked before.
Most of them enjoy it. They have given it up for you, perhaps, for their health, more likely, but mostly, because they didn't have anybody to smoke with. Women love to smoke with others. It's a fact, my darlings. But now she has you. I watched you smoke together, and darlings, to smoke after the fuck is so good, you'll just want to fuck again and again to have that. Didn't she look beautiful? Little drops of sweat between her breasts. On her forehead. Her nipples still erect. Her breath still ragged. Drawing in that first rag. Ember tips in twilight, glowing, then exhaling from her lips. Didn't she look like a goddess?
I watched as you talked.
How she liked that you want her to be your whore. And how proud of you she is that you want to be hers.
And in the emptiness of your mind, that thought, you are not gay.
But then again, I never said you were, did I?
I said you were a bitch.
And you are.
Now, I love gay men. Love, love, love them! I love them shaved and I love them sweaty. I love them with muscles and I love them skinny. I love how willingly they give up their asses and how eager they are to suck my bitch cock. I love how they fuck my cunt and how I fuck their asses.
That's right, darlings. There is a difference. A gay man's ass is like him. Rougher than a boi bitch's cunt. They are not like you and me. They are men, and I treat them like that. Even when I kneel behind them, on my knees as they are pushed against a wall, while I eat their unwashed taste from their ass, sweat and dirt from work or work-out that pooled between the cracks, scooping it up with my tongue. And if you haven't tried it, oh darlings, you don't know how good it tastes when they are dirty. You will want them to be dirty. You will want their cocks uncut and their faces with just the right amount of stubble. Their chests bulging with muscle as your stroke them from behind. Their thighs twitching as your tongue rolls around their cocks, swishing and twirling.
But I never forget what they are, first and foremost. Men.
And we are not.
We are in perfect balance, my darlings.
We are a our own gender.