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Alone on christmas phat pussy and day. My apartment is a mess- at the moment, it looks like Santas workshop. There are Christmas gifts for the neighbors on the coffee table waiting to be wrapped. There are tools, craft materials and paints here and there. Im indulging in a new hobby while making Christmas gifts for the next door.
Absolute toy for a first timer before extra stimulation when the other access is occupied. I love how the butterfly wings kept everything in area for easy use. It really hits all the right spots and leaves you satisfied. The beads rotate although vibrating, great for fun foreplay before to use for your own amusement. Be careful using it outside — the controller can be noisy, although this adds to the fun.
Everything else would just be exposition. Or: Perhaps there is simply nothing en route for do about it. A nonstarter. All the rage writing, I am ever overobsessed along with showing my work; this is individual way to establish a kind of control. I tell myself this is self-empowerment, but to what end? A sufficient amount detouring. All the time now I dream of being married, of having children, of being wifed up, of caring for people who are, after all, mine. This is not a caprice of bridezillaisms, nor does it affair the spectacle of a wedding. My longing concerns the Housewife as a mode of being or, at the very least, as a structural orchestration of a series of affective textures: My sense here is entirely divorced from ritual, and wholly indebted en route for a kind of devotional personhood.