When the stream of consciousness runs down your leg

I like the depth and breadth of women; the petit morts that calls to me every day, many times a day. I want to secrete the cream that makes babies breathe and women scream (scream cream?). My job is to stay hard, my avocation is to grow soft and slick with the seminal fluid from near my epididymis. I can't share emotions but I have something else warm and from within. I like the heft and mess of women. The oils, pomades, colors, cakes of chemicals that scream 'double-X' and 'beyond comprehension' the curvilinear bodies that turn up to breasts and slope down into a happy ending with every new beginning. The distaff sex creates this dissension within unified me. I love the quests and guests of women; searching for meaning in a male world that doesn't play nicely, carrying little boys and girls inside themselves to deposit them BUT only when they're ready. Visitors in this world? Maybe; but definitely visiting in the temple of soft pink womanhood. Hush. Respect the vibe; respect the tribe. Don't be afraid to cry. Don't be scared to try.