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For me, it's hard to draw a line when it comes to how big of a whore I'm allowed to be. I've asked myself if it's necessary to have "rules" in a porno relationship, but my questions remain unanswered.

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if i was dating or married to a PW, which coincidentally appears on my bucket list right after "slam own head in car door twenty six times", I would probably have to draw the line at midgets, because man, what's with those little guys?

i also wouldn't want any phonecall late at night from one of them if her number got out- the kind where i'm half asleep and don't remember jealously picking up her phone and being yelled at "i'm climbing the big bitch at dawn (click)" by who i swear was mickey mouse as i try to recollect the next morning.

and if she ends up on a JM set to be skewered by one of these shrimps, forget it, because they'd have him in the baby bonnet and diaper gimmick for sure. and my ego, and sanity, would be sunk, sending my brain to that campground beyond the sun. and sunday mornings wouldn't ever be the same- me slumped over my french toast, her flipping through the paper casually with no expression. then, sensing a pause in her manner, i look to see what's caught her eye, and it's the full page pampers ad. and i glare at her, knowing my peace is about to be shattered. "jesus, i thought we were past this!" she shrieks. "who's past it, Eileen? WHO? who the fuck is past it?" i whimper.

of course it would all just be a smoke screen for what was really troubling me- that his midget dick was bigger than mine.