And you know I see out of the corner of my eager eyes where the streetwalkers lurk. Colloquially the tarts or should that be hookers.
Ah les femmes. Those extraordinary things. Let's see now I have a mother, big bro has a wife, and also there are the several females I interact with on a daily basis.
And my needs? Only for a sort of reserve stock, ideally a sort of harem if that were not so vulgar.
Someone or ones accepting or that is not too disgusted or able to hide disgust well. Someone with lowish standards or who is able to accept payment for services.
And the curious unsatisfied and vacant faces of the whores. Woman is a temple at which you ought to worship, bringing incense and gold, like mom or big bro's wife.
How mysterious my relationship with Woman, how soft and secret, and how degraded, compulsive, unsatisfying, my relationships with women.
Oh the blonde dye in the shadows, o the glittering lips.
Angry disinterested faces of the whores.
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