Picked? …or Popped?


I love fresh fruit. Although, (despite what you might have assumed) eating ANYTHING out of ANYONE’S belly button or other body hole sounds like a major form of punishment to me. Like what the judge would sentence you to if you were an evil person AND ran over her dog that morning. Lol. Although, an itty bitty weed brownie never hurt anyone before. 

But that’s not what I’m trying to say. Ahhh… fresh fruit.

I can see it at the height of its ripeness. Right when it’s so plump and full, that at some point, it’s juice bursts forth, almost always spilling out onto your lips. But nothing that delicate and delicious; tender and fresh can escape, so you lick that quickly up as well. 

Do I sound like I’m bragging? Perhaps, in a way, I kinda am. I mean, more to myself. I have been the first lover of a few good men in my time. Well… they are now. Never my intention, of course. But we all know how insistant some boys can be…

Hey! I didn’t say I go around molesting little boys. However, there have been times that I have been called on to soothe the transistion from boy to man with my tender touch. Wow! That does sound sort of creepy.

Heard of the horse whisperer? Well, I’m kinda like the dick whisperer. Stop laughing. I’m being serious. You could hate my guts, but your cock… NEVER COULD. It would always be happy to see these lips coming in a little too closely. Despite whatever you think. That’s where I am in complete control.

Imagine them there, all ripe and young and delicious, and whispering directly into my ear. Would you not feel compelled to assist? …such frustration calling out for that ultimate release. And it’s not like they’re children. Just a little late on the draw. For whatever reason. And, you know me, I’m such a giving person. I just wanna help!

I didn’t lead them on in any way. I was just me. But hormones were raging, and when confronted with the dilemma, “To deflower or not to deflower?” The first time, I even pretended to be asleep, but became stimulated slightly as he brushed my shirt up, and… Well, I just did it. Once, possibly three times. I mean, he wasn’t good or anything . But without the input of a woman, what man ever is?

Of course there are other cases. Perfectly normalish cases where I wasn’t even the pervert at all. Boys… I mean. You know how they can be. One look at these Double D’s of mine and… it really doesn’t matter what age they are. Their need hangs heavy in the air. I can almost taste it. I can definitely FEEL it.

I recall one in particular. He was 18. Shockingly enough, I found out afterwards he used to be the best friend of my son. Hey! I didn’t know that until months after. And he didn’t have to say anything. I could see it. He watched every move I made, even when I wasn’t moving at all. His lips were always a little too wet. His pants always a little too tight. And his smile… very forced when he was around me. I knew it. He knew it. He just didn’t know if you was going to get it.

He got it.

I will call my young friend Junior Anaconda. And the only reason that he gets the Junior is because I’m not sure he’s old enough yet to even buy alcohol. But I can assure you, despite my former belief a man needed to be trained to be any good… when you’re born with that astoundingly physical manifestation of masculinity presenting itself LONG before you are even able to make an entrance… Well, I guess there’s just not that much room left to teach. 

All my love RM!

and to all of my delicious little plucked fruit!


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