March 3rd, 2003 - 12:23 a.m.

Je suis la plus... yeah.

Look out, she is a predator posing as a nervous sweaty palmed virgin boy.
Cannot help it.
But when she comes to. Will ruin legions with a well placed glance and a sly smile.

If you know her well enough, you would know all too well.
All too well.

C'est fa�ile.
Its all in the wrist, boy.
Its all in the casual comment and loud gesture.

All in her aggravated satisfaction, boy.

She's merveilleux.
C'est dans les yeux.
If you keep looking, boy, she will blow your mind before you can utter please.

And she will go before you can begin to beg her to come closer.

She's not for you, boy.

She's married to herself, children.

And her orgasm would flatten all your neurons, boy, in a muted explosion not constructed for fragile ears (y-).

She's more man than you, boy.
And you know it.

N.

�