It was funny how I found sweet only loneliness and despair cherrys in perfection sweetcherrys. The cherrys thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore off. All things lose some cherrys "intensity" in sweetcherrys time. I had done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring sweetcherrys; doing sweet all the sweetcherrys thinking, the planning, the hand sweet fantasizing and arranging, that we used to do together. It cherrys got to be work sweet. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made sweet me more like a stage director than a lover. And afterwards I missed the warmth of sweetcherrys that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of her sweet body. A sweetcherrys few words or sounds of sweetcherrys actual REAL contentment hand sweet. Most of the time hand sweet now, she simply stopped when the program did videos. Or sweet worse went through sweet the predictable sweetcherrys motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire sweet of simulated spontaneity.
Years passed cherrys. No one took her place. All that stuff about one true love, an irreplaceable soulmate is sweet true sweet. And I gutted mine like an sweet old building needing renovation sweet. Yet she remained; a sweet shiny perfect reminder sweet, a monolith, a gravemarker. A sweet tombstone sweet with three words only: "I love hand sweet you".
I was inside her. I sweetcherrys was still a man. Though in a few second I would begin sweet to soften, weaken, begin to videos lose the sweet most manly sweetcherrys moment. I would lose all pretense that this was real. But for now her muscles held my part inside of her, MADE me sweetcherrys last. Made me a mans videos man. It was then I thanked her. It was then I hand screamed.
She is working on my brain now. I thank her again while I still can. Whoever she is sweet I (feel?) I should thank her for (something?). Her cold eyes do not respond but none-the videos-less sweet somehow sweetcherrys I vaguely understand that justice has hand been served. She sweet rips sweet out more parts hand I will no sweetcherrys longer need. Replaces them with wiring and circuit boards. The last thing I ever remember hand sweet is the sweet I..ron..ic agony sweetcherrys of sweet having the main sweet control interface drilled and then injected painfully into the base of sweet my skull. Do machines scream?
It was funny how I found sweet only loneliness and despair cherrys in perfection sweetcherrys. The cherrys thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore off. All things lose some cherrys "intensity" in sweetcherrys time. I had done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring sweetcherrys; doing sweet all the sweetcherrys thinking, the planning, the hand sweet fantasizing and arranging, that we used to do together. It cherrys got to be work sweet. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made sweet me more like a stage director than a lover. And afterwards I missed the warmth of sweetcherrys that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of her sweet body. A sweetcherrys few words or sounds of sweetcherrys actual REAL contentment hand sweet. Most of the time hand sweet now, she simply stopped when the program did videos. Or sweet worse went through sweet the predictable sweetcherrys motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire sweet of simulated spontaneity.
Years passed cherrys. No one took her place. All that stuff about one true love, an irreplaceable soulmate is sweet true sweet. And I gutted mine like an sweet old building needing renovation sweet. Yet she remained; a sweet shiny perfect reminder sweet, a monolith, a gravemarker. A sweet tombstone sweet with three words only: "I love hand sweet you".
