From the moment I began to sculpt my first maiden from out of the primordial soup, I knew that I had stumbled upon something magical, yet forbidden. Tentatively, my weenie awakened from its slumber. Then, fully roused, it basked in the glory of things better left undisclosed (a tsundere, if you so please). For hours, I was in a trance as I lovingly molded every aspect, every feature of my acquiescent paragon of lust. We danced, my weenie and I, in a ballet of ecstasy that resonated up to the very pillars of Aphrodite's temple. Fear not, dear reader, for such concepts as dignity and pride have long abandoned me.

I know what you would ask of me: What if you are discovered, foolish one? Should the unprepared eyes of those whom you love stray upon the spectacle of flesh and exertion that is your existence, what then would you do?

Such questions are irrelevant. Are we not primal beasts, driven by ravenous instinct? It is my contention that we all are compelled by a darker appetite; at least mine lurks where only doe-eyed digital beauties of a legal age reside.

So, to those hypocrites, those web-toed slubberdegullions, I say to you, "Retreat into thine own bottom where you may find excrement like that you spew in abundance."

But, to you, my dear reader, whose interest has most certainly already been piqued. I say, "We are creatures of enormous appetites, you and I. Put on thy bib and feast, my slavering fellow!"