Read Online The Seven Deadly Sins by Corey Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Corey Taylor
Ads: Link
forthright in their sexual needs. I was the latter: I wanted fun and nothing more. Unfortunately, most women hear the truth and shoot it through the marriage prism. âWell, by saying he wants no relationship, what he means is he does not want one right now.â Women, you have to stop doing that. If a man wants a relationship, he will more than likely tell you. If he does not, never sprinkle pixie dust
on his yearning and try to build a house out of clay. Take it for what it is; it might change, but you are guaranteed to fail if you push a man too far.
This is exactly what Kate and Penny both did. Pressure was coming from both sides, drinking and laughing was being interrupted and serious dents were appearing on the high-performance vehicle that was my sex life. I was starting to feel a lot like some kind of gigolo ping-pong ball. And the sex was just amazing. They were fucking me like they were trying to qualify for the Olympics. I hate to say I was loving it, but holy hamster shit, I was totally loving it. The gloves were off and we were all running for the finish line: win, place, or quitâit was about to get weird.
At a birthday party, it finally did.
My friend, codename Mr. Nipples, was throwing a party for his former girlfriendâs birthday at their apartment. Booze was flowing and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. I was having a banner night, running from room to room joking about this or that. But slowly and surely, darkness spread across the festivities. I could not put my finger on it, but a presence was lurking just off the scopes, a force that threatened to destroy the merriment with zero remorse and zero mercy. At this point in the movie, it would behoove the director to do a push-focus, run the hallway of the apartment POV style, and present the viewer with the shocking vision of Kate and Penny comparing notes on their exploits with yours truly.
To me, it was not that big a deal. Neither one was my girlfriend. But as it turned out, they both considered themselves âexclusive,â the shadow cabinet to my prime minister. So right at the peak of my sweet buzz, the two of them marched into the bedroom I was holding court in and confronted me with their
grievances. I am fairly certain I did not make matters any better by applying reason and a nonplussed attitude to this fiery affair with the simple retort: â. . .and?â This set off a series of spectacular female assaults aimed at my person and my personâs person that eventually led to me, stumbling drunkenly to my feet and muttering, âWell, I need a break. I am taking a walk.â At least I hope that is what I said; at the time I could not really feel my mouth.
I wandered out into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a single 7x10 wall. Just around that wall was the front door to the establishment, which opened simultaneously to the kitchen and the front room. As I was heading toward sweet freedom, the birthday girl asked me in her own tipsy slur where I was going. Because I assumed it would not be a problem, I said for a walk to clear my head. For some reason she took this as the worst idea that had ever hit her eardrums and into her inebriated mind. So being a big girl and easily outweighing me by twenty pounds, she grabbed my arm to stop my hasty retreat. Not realizing her own strength and having no control at all because she was bombed, she half-pulled and half-threw me back into the kitchen. I was flung around like a rag doll, and because my own equilibrium was shot, I slipped, fell, and landed hard against the lower cupboards by the kitchen sink. My right elbow came down painfully on the â70s plastic or metal handle on one of the cupboards, and it pierced the skin, drawing blood, bone, and whatever the hell else makes up an arm.
With blood pouring down my forearm, the birthday girl tried desperately to rinse the wound, then, just as desperately, to convince me just to stick a
on his yearning and try to build a house out of clay. Take it for what it is; it might change, but you are guaranteed to fail if you push a man too far.
This is exactly what Kate and Penny both did. Pressure was coming from both sides, drinking and laughing was being interrupted and serious dents were appearing on the high-performance vehicle that was my sex life. I was starting to feel a lot like some kind of gigolo ping-pong ball. And the sex was just amazing. They were fucking me like they were trying to qualify for the Olympics. I hate to say I was loving it, but holy hamster shit, I was totally loving it. The gloves were off and we were all running for the finish line: win, place, or quitâit was about to get weird.
At a birthday party, it finally did.
My friend, codename Mr. Nipples, was throwing a party for his former girlfriendâs birthday at their apartment. Booze was flowing and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. I was having a banner night, running from room to room joking about this or that. But slowly and surely, darkness spread across the festivities. I could not put my finger on it, but a presence was lurking just off the scopes, a force that threatened to destroy the merriment with zero remorse and zero mercy. At this point in the movie, it would behoove the director to do a push-focus, run the hallway of the apartment POV style, and present the viewer with the shocking vision of Kate and Penny comparing notes on their exploits with yours truly.
To me, it was not that big a deal. Neither one was my girlfriend. But as it turned out, they both considered themselves âexclusive,â the shadow cabinet to my prime minister. So right at the peak of my sweet buzz, the two of them marched into the bedroom I was holding court in and confronted me with their
grievances. I am fairly certain I did not make matters any better by applying reason and a nonplussed attitude to this fiery affair with the simple retort: â. . .and?â This set off a series of spectacular female assaults aimed at my person and my personâs person that eventually led to me, stumbling drunkenly to my feet and muttering, âWell, I need a break. I am taking a walk.â At least I hope that is what I said; at the time I could not really feel my mouth.
I wandered out into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a single 7x10 wall. Just around that wall was the front door to the establishment, which opened simultaneously to the kitchen and the front room. As I was heading toward sweet freedom, the birthday girl asked me in her own tipsy slur where I was going. Because I assumed it would not be a problem, I said for a walk to clear my head. For some reason she took this as the worst idea that had ever hit her eardrums and into her inebriated mind. So being a big girl and easily outweighing me by twenty pounds, she grabbed my arm to stop my hasty retreat. Not realizing her own strength and having no control at all because she was bombed, she half-pulled and half-threw me back into the kitchen. I was flung around like a rag doll, and because my own equilibrium was shot, I slipped, fell, and landed hard against the lower cupboards by the kitchen sink. My right elbow came down painfully on the â70s plastic or metal handle on one of the cupboards, and it pierced the skin, drawing blood, bone, and whatever the hell else makes up an arm.
With blood pouring down my forearm, the birthday girl tried desperately to rinse the wound, then, just as desperately, to convince me just to stick a
Similar Books
