My Cream for Eva! My Jizz for Virginia!

I don't mind sharing the load.

My Cream for Eva! My Jizz for Virginia!

At 64, I have a limited supply. The sperm-production facility runs at minimum capacity. Tattooed young men, 40 years younger than myself, can take on the heavy lifting. Three girls at once, and a full, thick screaming ramrod for each one! As a 24-year old my record was nine orgasms inside one hot MILF during an overnight stay. The usual. Husband away. Time to make music. We sang in choir together. Once she sucked me off while her husband was home, out on the porch smoking his pipe.

These were the compromises of earlier generations. Marry a man with cash flow. Fuck younger men when available. This tradition continues in some places. But it is unnecessary. Let's just stop being slaves to each other, slaves to the cause of gathering cash, and to any number of other causes below the honest value of human dignity. We are not bunnies, goats or cockroaches. Too many of us accept a diminished role, operating far below the capacity of our DNA. The grand promise of Democracy and Capitalism in 2020, often demands diminished roles, indentured servants and economic slaves to those few people who have piles of cash.

Is it the perfume from a dress, that makes me so digress? My subject today is lust. Nice, warm, healthy, heterosexual lust for young female humans. My Cream for Eva! My Jizz for Virginia! This is my mantra when I jack off. I look at stills, or videos I have made with these beautiful females. And beat, beat, beat the drums. Boom, boom, BOOM!

“Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain, So fierce you whirr and pound your drums—so shrill your bugles blow.” - Walt Whitman, 1861

“Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,

Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,

A deep rolling bass.

Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,

Pounded on the table,

Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,

Hard as they were able,

Boom, boom, BOOM..” - Vachel Lindsay, 1912

The Vachel Lindsay poem is probably less taught in schools today, than 60 years ago. It is completely opposite our 21st Century racial sensitivities. It would work only if performed by a tattooed, black rapper wearing lots of bling. No white man in America can talk openly these days talk about the “Negro Race” and “Their Basic Savagery” (Those are exact quotes from the original published poem.)

How did we get from Whitman to Lindsay to Black Lives Matter? With angry people destroying businesses in Kenosha, Wisconsin? Businesses having nothing to do with racism, or any negative thing. Just plain, normal people making a living. The answer is simple: We forget. We lie to each other. We allow our government and our media to lie to us. And we take all of the massive lies like mice, like lemmings following some loud-mouth asshole over the cliff. We run with the herd, with the propaganda of the moment, and tell ourselves we are being righteous and noble, and fighting a good fight. In fact, many people are in the street from pure frustration, needing to feel good about things which are entirely outside their control.

Beat, beat, beat the drum. Again, I digress from warm friendly lust, to the frustration of modern mobs. The mindless noise of angry mobs.

I allow myself this stream-of-consciousness, this lack of linear thought. The motion of my mind and the style of my writing require no one's seal-of -approval. If you do not wish to read one line more--- click yourself away into some other person's view of reality. Click. Click. Click. This is the virtual reality, the invented reality our leaders of government and business so enjoy. Reality-spinning for one singular purpose: To control us. To raid our wallets. To make us social and economic slaves.

This is the compromise of the current generation: Give up your free will to the will of the irrational mob, and give your lives to the agendas of government and business leaders. Be a bunny, a goat or a cockroach.

humanity
Roscoe Forthright
Roscoe Forthright
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Roscoe Forthright
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