Author of quotes: Victoria ROA. Page 1

I used to live each of his men for their loyalty and dog loyalty, could be a Noir-girlfriend of Chicago mafia. To live fully absorbed obsession, absorbed her man is romantic, it's very sensual, and how it will hurt later. Then, when the relationship reaches its boiling point, and to tolerate each other becomes unbearable, because after all good sex starts Genesis, for which there is a solid understanding. Then when he tells you that he is married, and you, like an abandoned puppy left to sit on the empty street under the thunder and the damn rain. Then, when he's just betrays...betrays, because it was not needed. Betray because it is convenient for him. Betrayed, because he lied, and never loved you, silly girl with the most gorgeous body that was in his bed.

Here even think about you, Stas. What do you like? What lies under the mask of honest men that never hits and does not offend, and especially not increases on low floor vote? And if you're as good as they appear to be? Do not adhere to a healthy lifestyle, I smoke nasty cigarettes which choke me, and your stupid drinking hibiscus, but a lone wolf that wanted to fuck with a partner an innocent girl. What exactly is Herman? An avid lover of a healthy lifestyle, like to drink coffee with salt turned out to be nasty filth around which twisted women like he's tasty honeycomb. Stas can be very sweet in bed, and maybe the most rude gentleman that hide their fetishes behind a mask of propriety, but only behind closed doors and with the woman, he becomes a predator. He sees the goal.

I could smell his body. These purely masculine vibe present sexuality. Brings to shiver, but doesn't matter now.

They think about it in moments of peak pleasure higher being in bed with his wife. They think of it in his rough palm sperm of self-satisfaction.

Who am I kidding? I've been proud of his role of "things" that got in the end, as befits her. "Used" in every sense of the thing no longer brings joy, and it should be removed.

There is a pain. The pain through which exhale the smoke of nicotine in the direction pushed you away passion. The pain get a slap from the near and dear of men, but continue to love him. The pain through which is taken from the table, folded in half large bills, as payment for the most luxurious night in the world, and inside, smaller inscription, "to You a taxi". And the worst part about this is that such pain is almost impossible to heal with love, drugs, tenderness or drown out the alcohol.

In a world where run by money, jealousy and love there is no place of tenderness, pity and excitement.

Of course, now it seems to me that life plays out with everyone in any game, but in this game I don't understand the rules or they simply do not.

Another delay does not dull my emotional pain.

And squeezing in the throes of delicate sheets, I was exhausted from burning in me a fire of passion that demanded its release.

This night made me burn and burn to the ground, exhausted from his own passion, and memories of him. Sensual, rough voice that still echoed in the subconscious, and this burning sensation between my legs. It is not peculiar to me. It's so strange to me. Feeling passion for someone else's man. Not my man.

Become him...but not his wife...not girlfriend...thing. I don't use the word "lover", because it is selfish-materialistic. It's dirty, but not sexy.

For a second, I remembered the line from the song Jessica rabbit sang in this bar from the movie. "Why don't you do right like other men?" This phrase seemed to characterize all who have had up to this point.

As a lover of detective stories, I always loved those foggy, men's images. The detectives that are the women's favorites have always been my favorites too. I was not much different from the average women. Where any sound minded woman that know how sexy a man's mind, thinking and intelligence, chose Hercule Poirot as an example, the standard of sexy men, I without hesitation would have said Marlowe. Where lovers of abstruse conversations and arguments would choose Sherlock Holmes, I would not hesitate to whisper a name as a ladies ' man Philip Marlowe. He is rude, uncouth and brutal he wanted to contradict. Now and then, I closed my eyes I saw the image of this real detective.