Love them. Love women. Love their curves. Watch them sway and bounce their asses and pop out each cheek. Want them. Look them over. Stare from face to stomach to arms to tits to hips to legs to calves to feet to cunt and love them.
If you cannot love them you are already lost and I pity you for this. To understand them you must want them. Any who tell you otherwise lie. They know not women and they know not how sweet they smell or the looks in their eyes when they know they hold you in the palms of their perfumed hands and how they nod, acknowledging they can now take you into their mouth, chew you up and swallow you bones and balls and cum and all.
Once I asked Tarin about being a mother and she gave me a list that involved every adjective imaginable.
“Stressful. Tiring. Amazing. Fun. Hilarious. Hard,” Tarin’s voice grew more upbeat with every word. She smiled wider. The darkness of The Den remained but in the back by the mirrors and the billiard tables light as if reflected from the sun by the snow radiated from the plush armchair she lounged upon. Everything she said accented by the West and the world she had immersed herself within. “You’ve got to be creative sometimes. Pick and choose your battles, you know? You can’t win everything.”
“Do you enjoy it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she beamed, “It’s amazing!”
“Was he planned?”
“No. He was a total accident. Tried to get an abortion. Texas laws [are] different than Colorado so I was too far along. So,” her mood dropped but she perked up quick, “Oh, kind of had to have him then. It was, like, nine months of making myself believe I had to be a mom. There was no more fuck off time. I am now responsible for another human being and I have to teach him things and-,” Tarin paused and contemplated, drawing in breath.
“It was very stressful. I hated my life. I came up to Colorado when I was thirteen, fourteen weeks pregnant and I moved in with my mom and lived off the money that I had. Yeah. Crazy. Crazy life.
“But it has made me so much stronger and it’s made me open my heart and my mind to so much more of life that I think people without children forget and pass up. It’s the simple things that keep us going every day and that [make] life enjoyable.
“I also think I had him for a reason. I was going down a very destructive path. I was an alcoholic. Bad. I woke up in the morning to drink a drink,” Tarin laughed, nervous and truthful. She repeated the same noise over each time she attempted to make fun of her past. “There was at least a liter of vodka gone a day, easily. I liked to drink.
“So, I think it all happened for a reason.”
I could put the amount of times I’ve seen Tarin act professional, with her back straight and swaying her luscious hips beneath a tight black dress, on one side of Justice’s scale and then take the times I’ve seen her mock jerking off a cock she doesn’t have, shouting out loud that she’s not making any money and that men should stop sword fighting and pay attention to her tits, put them on opposite sides of each other and the apparatus would even out.
Tarin was nearing her thirties but the way she acted with her gamine features and curling blonde hair I would never have knew unless she was so honest about her age. On the best of days or under the worst of circumstances a smile managed to creep across her heart-shaped pixie face. Everything at The Den was a joke. Always she’d tell me she didn’t want to be there, that she’d rather do hair or even serve tables but she’d always be out dancing. With bills to pay, schooling for herself to fund and a son at home, working a job you’ve worked well for almost a decade seems realistic.