Why, why, Infidelia, does 90% of my brain seem devoted
solely to dirty thoughts? Why am I consumed by the
sweaty, grunting, moaning possibilities at any given
Oh, let's get serious, I:WP, (you don't mind if I call
you I:WP, do you? It's pronounced "I whip", in case
you were wondering), I don't really care why I'm
incapable of a moment where at least one part of my
brain isn't devoted to wondering what the barista's
fingers would feel like wrapped around my
throat....how many times a day do I fall in love? In
lust? Hundreds. Well, tens, anyway. And you know
something, I:WP, I love myself this way. I am a
dirty, dirty girl. There's no getting around it.
My only real question is this: can a dirty, dirty
girl like me be a one man woman? Can a one woman man
love a girl like me? Stay tuned, I suppose. I still
am. Haven't subscribed to spinsterhood yet, no
siree...but can a slut be a spinster, even if she
never marries? Oh, the questions burn. Like the fire
in my loins.
I eagerly await your advice, I:WP...eagerly, moistly,
excitedly await it. Hurry!