Love lost.

My first post on Hotrocks, and what a load of inane drivel it was, touched on women's pointy fucking shoes. I have a violent reaction when I see them. They fuck me off no end. They are horrible, a fashion aberration. I would laugh if I wasn't so disgusted. On Demented Isle, I thought their huge popularity was particular to this part of the world, until I started seeing them pop-up in Western magazines.

And then, everything shattered and fell away. Since the eighties, one of my favourite women in my fantasies was Diane Lane. I thought she was fucking gorgeous, what with that scar and all. Did you ever see 'Rumblefish'? Great film, and Ms. Lane would thicken my long clean cock. And then, about two years ago, I saw a piece of shite with her and Dick Gere. They are married, and she gets a right good seeing to from a young, handsome book collector. And she wears fucking pointy cunting shoes. That was the end right there, apart from a vague interest when she gets fucked from behind.

I will never forgive her. If I am enjoying a five-knuckle shuffle now, and think of her, my tumescence will start to flag as into my mind comes pointy shoes. The situation is always retrievable though, no fucking worries on that score. I just imagine her in DM's and a full-length floral print summer dress smoking a spliff in an exquisite living-room drenched in the afternoon sunlight. And she is horny.

For a full ten minutes or so, I forgive her. Then I feel such shame. "But Brewski", I say to myself, "she wears pointy shoes. How could you?" And I go abroad in the world tainted and downcast. I bet she fucking has bunions too. Those fucking shoes will do that to a girl, I'll warrant. Bollocks to it.

Diane Lane, you have much to answer for.



Sirrah!

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional". Susun Weed.