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Why are Maria tits so small?
vampares`
#1 Posted : Friday, March 08, 2013 8:24:20 PM(UTC)
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Are Maria's tits shrinking or something?

Valkyre
#2 Posted : Friday, March 08, 2013 8:57:46 PM(UTC)
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why is your forehead so huge?
appaloosa
#3 Posted : Friday, March 08, 2013 9:51:57 PM(UTC)
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Noticed that Vampares doesn't list a gender in "it's" profile. Whatever, as if we couldn't tell, it should be listed as "LOW GRADE". Clearly' the huge forehead envelopes something very small.
CROUCHING TIGER
#4 Posted : Saturday, March 09, 2013 4:38:17 AM(UTC)
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I really can't answer that, even if i would. I ONLY look how Masha plays tennis and NOTHING ELSE !!!


WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
matchpoint
#5 Posted : Wednesday, July 31, 2013 1:50:53 AM(UTC)
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Do you remember what it was like the first time you dated? And walking home from school with that person, sensing a strange feeling that seemed to grow along your nerves, starting at the feet, and then surrounding you?


Not just walking anywhere, Maria. Walking to an empty house, with a person of the opposite sex.

It was there that someone's hands tickled me for the first time. I was wearing a yellow 'Adidas' T shirt, and blue jeans. Probably wearing Adidas 'Rom's with blue stripes, made from kangaroo hide. They had an intoxicating aroma out of the box.

That was a long time ago, Maria. A long time ago. I suspect you are the only one here who knows just how long ago that was.

I am certain this is the only way to assure that your eyes see this. I won't start using my twitter, not just yet. FB has me post banned. Only one supermodel has a 'write something' box open to me, and I am pretty certain that bridge is burned. Incinerated. Tattoos and rock stars, institutionalized fatalistic korporate pacts, black widow spiders and everything. But near the lake shore, there is a small, oddly shaped room. The walls there are holding enough non-ionizing radiation to light a thousand human globes, that would blaze chalk blue for a decade or more, until it tempered itself, to a shimmering clear cloud. She never felt a thing. But she knew what she wanted, after all. I? I fumbled across the mattress and picked up my head, screwed it back on, and passed out in the daylight streaming in through curtains that had been left open...knowing, after all, that they could never be truly undrawn.


Within days, the bedroom was in shambles. She had worked so hard toward this day, and she was going to have her say, after all. 


I am certain not a day has passed when I didn't remember everything. And then forget it, again.


It had happened, I should say, once before. One week prior, I had been walking up a flight of stairs. Alone. Talking. Saying words anyone in the world has heard before. So...it's not something exclusive to sex, after all. And I was busy now. All my writings I threw in the trash, and some journalism students had found it. Managed to decode my handwriting. I moved into a smaller new place. I'd love it there. I maintained tenancy for a long time. There was a message awaiting me...on the 'car phone'. 'Here', a voice said, 'are some poems. Write them down. You'll be needing these'. 


Anyway, as for the interior, leather is classic. 


Bondage black. 


Libertine grey.


Krytron blue.


You decide. 



I tried going outside again, today. Not just sitting on the lawn for a cup or two. I even bought a lighter with the money I found yesterday, a crisp 20 laying on the parkway someone had left for me, along my walk, so I wouldn't be tethered to the stove when I smoke, and possibly miss you. It rained lightly. I sat in the park after practice. Lots of backhand drives, using backspin. It's so rewarding. No one sees it coming when I use my backhand side for this. It's natural. I hit topspin with the other side of the racquet face. There's only 1 guy I've seen do this. He is a nobody, but he did turn pro. 

But I digress. I wanted to tell you a story.

That person of the opposite sex, my first date. My first maybe girlfriend.

I had started to think of her. Yes, I have a great memory. And then a few days later, I was walking to get my latest used car back from the repair shop. The brake lines had crumbled after I drove it home on the highway, 40 miles. The next day I had started my car, and the pedal fell to the floor. 

But on the way there I did something I never did in all the years I lived here. Set inside a small, unattractive 60's style strip mall, located on a residential patch of main street USA, 3 blocks from where I live, there was a store which said 'Camera Repair' that I suddenly noticed, because at home, I had a camera, a sureshot, which had suffered a couple of bruises and I thought they could perhaps point me toward resolving the broken flash issue.

I have driven past this store a million times, Maria. It used to be that I drove even if only to cross the street. But now I was walking. I noticed it. Camera Repair. I went through the door.

Sitting behind the counter was a sole employee. There were empty counters, empty cases, blank walls, and almost no sign that anyone did anything, any work of any kind, inside the small place. Three or four cameras were on a shelf behind her. There was nothing else. Just the employee, and me, and a lot of grey color all around. We were so near each other that I thought she'd sneeze, or maybe shiver a little. I shouldn't be saying this...but the idea to seize her hand and drag her in back, just to see what there was to see, flashed through my mind, like lightning. Instead, I acted. I pretended like I didn't see through it. For once, I was able to remain oblivious to my own nerve impulse. The timing was not yet ripe. It would have to come later.


I recognized her instantly. She was the girl who led me into her empty house, and caused me to squirm because she tickled under my arms and torso and made me feel like I was a puppy dog. We were walking because I was too young to drive. I had a yellow schwinn. We were walking because we were about to share our first kiss. 

She was witty, still, just like when I knew her from school, and very young looking. I was pleased with her wit and appearance. I pretended to not know her. Instead of saying OMG HI HOW ARE YOU it was just 'well I have this camera and the screws are so tiny. I took it apart once or twice but can't figure how to undo the body panels etc....'

Even for this bullshit she responded with wit that makes me a little sad for myself that one could be so resourceful given nothing to work with except hi I'm pretending I never saw you and going to pick up my new beater truck but I saw the sign out front...and I guess we won't be going to homecoming so...

There was no ring on her finger. She was just a little on the heavy side, by supermodel standards, but better this than thin...and she remained seated, so maybe I was looking at a compressed view of her midriff....she looked exactly how she had looked when I held her hand, a million years ago. She hadn't aged a day. She was beautiful.

But I believe I had already made up my mind. A man came in, and she tended to him. 



I walked out the door.

It is like a dream, Maria, except that this really happened, just a few years ago, before I blew up at you for roddick. Or ebersol...or maybe something else I couldn't change about your path..do you remember what I said to you? I do. And it was before I knew how to copy/paste or screen capture. 

The camera store, now vanished. The girl, she must have found another career. I'm not sure how long the prop remained, after that. It was like that show 'Hustle' where the con artists set up a fake shop, and then blow. It was a front. The whole thing was a front. To see if I remembered her. To see if I had interest in her. To see if I could be persuaded, steered toward, tipped into that stage set. I had been thinking about her, after all, remember?


The mission was successful. I didn't even consider this angle..until relatively recently. The breakthrough came when we split up after that guy you pecked courtside after a match. Black hair..the TV guy. So after the chance meeting, I began looking for her on line, as one would look for an old friend or school mate, but....not knowing why...just because she was either in on something, or the whole thing was as innocent as love...or telepathy. I know I will never find her. Because I am not trying to find her. But she would be so proud of me. I got rid of the ugly car. A-and...I have a brand new lighter. 

Yeah, I just turned and walked out the door. Like some giant hands had grabbed my shoulders. I was too thoughtless, too determined about the whole ordeal even to consider that it was all fake. That there was no camera repair facility. There was only me, and the girl, and the crossroads of memory which I spat at, and left. I hardly knew her...a few dates, was all. But she meant something. And someone had placed her in that prop shop for just a few days or maybe even only an afternoon, awaiting my footsteps, since I would be walking that way to get to my beater car. They had seen me take apart the Canon. They had heard me set up an appointment for the car. Fucking genuises...


Or maybe it was complete natural.....the same giant hands that had turned my shoulders to enter, and then lifted them to leave, brought me to a place that was no prop, to a girl that was smiling flesh and smiling blood with a brain that was a superheterodyne radio set; to turn on a memory that was about to be born into existence...at the cost of something else. Just so I could get over the thoughts that only God was aware existed (right?). Just because I had, in the space of a week, merely thought about her. I had done nothing online before this, left no prints anywhere, save on the fabric of time and space, safe in my thoughts. And then she was there. And then I was there. And then everything was gone.


This happened, Maria. This is not some dreamscape narrative. Not some story, some fiction. I couldn't fabricate something this real if I tried.


 


I had read that when you wanted a guy, at the academy, that you became a bully about it. I know I know. All hearsay. I look at some gif image sequences of you, near the pool, on tumblr...at that tender age you were. Splashing water at the lens. Clowning. A bully, for love, or whatever it was you wanted. Sometimes I thank God for that. If it weren't for that which comprises 'you', then I'd never have seen you. Remember that, please. I always will. Once I show you how to 'waste time', you'll be amazed that there isn't enough time this side of infinity, to waste. I'm a pro. But to do the job right, I need some gear...no more notes flying off into space, never to be heard again. I want tape. Imagine painting a canvas, yet every brush stroke vanished out the window? Or writing a story, but the ink disappeared as you wrote the words? I want a space that fits under your skirt. I want to tell you why. I want you mad at me because you cannot not give me anything, that I have not already taken, and thanked you for. That's a start.


 



I turned and walked away, Maria, because you exist. Just like all the times before you existed. Because, one day, guera, one day, you would exist. 

The entire strip is vacant now. Though there's no indication of it, I am certain it will all be demolished soon. Just me, and her, our shadows, and some sharp white gravel amidst memory. I'm not even sure what house she lived in, where I was tickled, for the first, and last, time, after school. That's on the other side of town. Tomorrow I will walk to that strip mall, and peer inside every soaped window, trying to recall which grey walled interior had housed this phantom. Then I'll go around back, through the alley, to look for a sign, evidence of a camera store. I must. I must retain memory of things past...


The last I saw her, before this, was when she and some of her girlfriends were nice enough to offer me a ride home, and all of them were laughing about something. Is there some element hidden from me, in this depiction, Maria, that you'd care to help me through? Implicitly, or otherwise?


I may have been aware of it, at one time, but that fear slithered away, Maria, just like the scenery, that tumbles, and falls.


And the walls, that won't. 


It is raining. On your birthday, it rained so hard that the underground river rose, and the basement flooded. 2nd time in decades. Little one.

midaso
#6 Posted : Wednesday, July 31, 2013 7:09:24 PM(UTC)
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Female athletes in general don't have big breasts,of course there are exceptions though. There is some scientific explanation,can't remember the gist of it though
matchpoint
#7 Posted : Wednesday, July 31, 2013 9:01:34 PM(UTC)
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I can't say that I am a huge fan of the sterotypical top heavy female form. If they were huge, well, I'd make an exception...for her. 


There's something nice about just right, a sort of not-in-yer face subtley. Very exciting. 


It means she can walk around in casual attire without a lot of fa la ra. A beach, wearing just a mauve polo jacket; a camp fire, or just lounging around the house. I think it would suck to have to strap 'em in every time you stood up. 


She is perfect.

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