Writer: Good Little Church Girl
Subject: Dearest, Janet d’Lonna, Karen, Solo Girl, Queens, all.
Link: LS6666 / 09.10.2022
Dearest, Janet d’Lonna, Karen, Solo Girl, Queens, all
My breathing is shallow and staccato, heart bursting with rapid-fire beating.
On style:
Your style suits the narrative deliciously and intuitively. The writing style is just … fun. I hear the entire voice of your narrator. She lives. And she is real. Your writing reflects Karen’s thought processes perfectly, even adopting Karen’s speech patterns and idiosyncrasies. Brilliant.
Whew! I’m already on the verge of pure panic, even this soon into my – what is this, perhaps my two cents? Bless it, my two cents is free. I’m high from this story, it has sunken its teeth into my jugular; I am now compelled to regurgitate your words back to you and comment shamelessly. Forgive me.
On CONNECTION:
“… Gleam that only I could detect. A gleam that only I understood.”
To have this connection would be True Marriage, as it was designed. Sexual liberation and bliss. The romance is living, breathing, enduring. That must be sheer ecstasy. If only I knew. Oh bitter is my soul that I shall not have.
On SADISTIC INSTINCT:
“… Only had four abortions in that span of time. Little Barbara was so sad after each loss.”
The nonchalance here, shown throughout this artistic, beautiful tragedy, is staggering. Shocking. Perfect in every way, especially in its subtlety. Further even is the Gulf between self love and morality. I need. I need. I need.
Side note: Only necessary because I’m unable keep from injecting myself into your plot. But y’all put me there, thank you very much. I digress from, though rendering it no less important, of course, my point: I think callousness in this quiet form, completely unabashed and without hesitation, is the nectar of the gods. And because I’m a free Spirit, I may also say: tap in. Tap, tap, tap in. Oh the irony in quoting musical lyrics when I know they are falling on deaf ears. It thrills me when I find myself unpredictable, if only occasionally. Fuck.
Back to you, which is why we are here.
On EXPERTISE:
“… Know my darling that hesitating just through the sphincter muscle causes much of the discomfort when anal sex is first experienced. You now rotate your hips slowly … ”
May I please play this game? May I please inflict this? I’ll do anything, just allow me to see, touch, infect. Shit fucking damn cunt fucking sissy faggot boy fuck hole. I just need need need. I think that’s enough here. If I continue in this vein, I will surely die. Your words haunt me.
On DESTRUCTION:
“… Given my passion to take natural and accepted beauty only to corrupt it with all that I can which is vile and perverted was making this experience so much more enjoyable.”
Could it be enjoyable at ALL without that passion? Would there be a need? For me, a proverbial chicken and egg scenario comes to mind. But, no matter really, is it? I’m just motherfucking glad I’m passionate.
On IMAGERY:
“… Your buttocks flex and pump. Up and full. Then down and tight.”
Lovely imagery, much more effective than: cock, dick, splodge. Not even a close second. I should know. I’m queen of smut talk that flies in the face of all intelligence, and motherfucking proud of it. But, fuck, I already loved him. Needed to please him, join him, swallow him down. Now I see that beautiful man ass, pumping (fuck that word’s underrated), harming, conquering. “Down tight,” huh? Air tight. Airways. Obstruct. Choke. Beat. All just because you showed me his butt … Now I have to lick it, rim it, suck it, turn it inside out. Much appreciated, frankly. Coming from a pedo dyke cunt-licker such as myself, that’s a feat honorably achieved. Respect!
Finally, before I lose friends with narcissistic rambling.
On CRUELTY:
“… The exact bed she was conceived and not even our normal marriage bed at home, it till symbolizes our marriage bed and you know how I just love to dishonor it. To make it unclean with our vile practices. I sleep so well with the spirits of all the children we have tortured and slaughtered over the years suffering in the darkness around us. ”
I cannot tell a lie, so I mustn’t comment except to say, you’ve led me there, haven’t you then? The End. Compelled to regurgitate your words back to you and comment shamelessly. Forgive me.