Someone I had not heard from before but must have followed a considerable part of my blog made a suggestion which is worth pondering. He thought my best writing was not the fruit of my mind, but the result of a close cooperation between some other parts of my sweet self: it was when my pussy dictated to my hand what my hand did to my pussy. And not only my hand, but whoever was exploring these wetlands. So I should not try writing in ink, but go on dipping my pen in my most intimate juices again, the way I always used to. Oh my, oh my ...
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