Cure, anyone?

I've often looked out for a post on the "dance of death". And seeing as one Kamikaze is an eminent expert on the subject, something from him. Or from 0.5. Haven't seen anything from him in a while.

So I'm a sufferer of the alluded to syndrome. Known this for a long time. From early on it became evident that sheer will power and avoidance manoeuvers would not be sufficient to overcome this problem. How is manoeuver an english word? Anyway. The only effective solution was, and remains purging of the phonebook. I've also fallen victim to the recently used sms recipients list and didn't figure out a way to clear that one. Tried removing the battery but the contacts persisted. Also been known to purge the the email inbox, sent items and addressbook. Succumbed to those ones a number of times.

So I've done my part. Purged everything I can think of. Inoculated. Then some time down the line, I get one of those umenyamaza correspondences. And the problems start. You could say nothing back [I'm yet to use this option]. You can go through the purge process after responding, but if you get a reply or a number of replies, this can be quite tiring. So before you know it, you're back to a place you were months or years before. Admittedly, most chics who've dismissed my stories make it a permanent thing. Some more ruthlessly than others. But, occasionally, you get one or two with whom you engage in that dreaded dance.

Silent answer

When you take someone out, you want it to end in consensus. That's why i avoid topics like news, religion, chics vs guys, the poll outcome and how chics at work feel bad because of her looks.

How she started it i can tell, out of a well calculated smooth talk. "Do you think priests should get married?"

If i allow this line of discussion, i will get sucked into a useless non productive evening and i will retire to myself at 2:00 am.

But damn, the processing in my mind is switched. A priest in robes slowly undresses, Her partner is swaying all and about. He grabs the smooth details and turns his tongue in rolling fashion over her soft smooth skin. After some rough hurried hand works, he moves his mouth gently to the lower eden. Bites, tingles, roaring over and alternating calculated handwork and tongue action. He releases his every mouth based weapon on her roaring, turning, yearning body. By now spasms of pleasure have escalated into cries of pleasure and unyielding demands for quick rollover to the next level of pleasure. The very thought almost made me imagine spitting out the holy bread. can't see myself kneeling to get some from this filthy dude.

Well my opinion will not get me sorted, so i shut up in eager ambition, but this time i have silently picked sides on this edgy topic. she will never know.