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C)
My answer to Kite comes from my very ancient belly. The belly gets it directly from the head of the
prick, the glans: the male thought centre. Every dyke should have one or two male reference persons.
Her point of view becomes sharper by it. My advice is more than just my opinion, I listen inside and
oracle, what I feel.
As I am a ruffled, worn out, got neurotic and old, poor old black,
gray tomcat, my oracle messages aren't certified reading stuff for youngsters and not suitable as advice
for decent young women.
In reality, I live between the firm legs of Ilka. I am Ilka's black tomcat
black fur pad, look like Batwoman, I look, objectively seen, alike the ass-hole of a cow. I am
absolutely super, who sees me in real, becomes enthusiastic and randy.
Where should a black
tomcat live otherwise, then? How else should a black tomcat be then? Ilka is a friend of Kite. I
love Ilka, fantastic body, a fair bit of very best meat. Of Ilka, I love every single ounce; there
is something special. I love Ilka, because she stands for it, who and who she is. Ilka has and Ilka
points it out, Ilka wears leather and Ilka is wearing the leather skintight over one of the world's
most beautiful arses. An arse, that could make me wish to be a millionaire.
Ilka arse is millions
of Dollar, pounds or Swiss franc worth, actual cash money, right? Or do you pay in euro? An arse,
that could have me a virtuous hermit take into temptation of God Mammon's filthy lucre. Bad luck
that Mammon doesn't irritate me. I am not a material Saint. I tomcat Sylvester, pardon, Jackob, I
am inspired by childlike or more youthful curiosity, by some voyeuristic quiet curiosity of old-age
people. But certainly no materialist, only with money not temptable, as Pescara, the one of the
Temptation to Genoa not spontaneous but rather hesitant, a Cunctator, I am very skeptical; have to
put everything in question.
What I don't have, is the childlike credulity. I've always been a
bad boy. Angry young men too are to get somewhere. Honestly, the Saint's whores could lure me, but
nobody sends them to me. Self-order won't go; starving monks need in such cases a sponsor; whores
finally want and must live, too. I find this quite all right; good work should earn good money, hey,
you cocks don't spend pettily. The Saint had found a very good sponsor, but nowadays, the devil is
more of an old miser. As I do like whores, have always comforted myself by the thought, that one day
I will marry an old-timer, then, when I would be grown up to the required size, when she would have,
induced by her high age, to retire from the trade.
I had bad luck in that; there are too few whores,
for me, none for me. The very few of them extremely desired real prof. ladies disappear on the marriage
market as a water drop on a red hot cooking-plate. Ex-whores are as hard to be found as black holes.
Moreover, everyone has one! Ex-whores buzz around wildly and are caught and avariciously absorbed by
thousands of well-off grooms-to-be. I, with my more intellectual values have against the pecuniary
competitors not the very least chance. There are only few not material whores, so the odds are against
me. I have to offer only my love and sincerity. I am old, faithful, affectionate, a load but as I hope,
lovely lazy and a dear little gourmet too.
In my youth, a teacher thought in front of his school
class, who would marry a former whore, then? No one would do it, these women won't have any chance
moreover whores would age very fast, and in old age they look burned out.
Therefore I hoped for it,
of once getting one for me.
None of the statements has
proved itself right.
Don't believe any teacher. Believe no one over thirty, no priest, no doctor, no
one, who does want something of you? Teachers are employed by the establishment this should make them
suspicious. Only the brightest of children feel, that there's something that is
foul.
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