Here’s a riddle: How are donuts like my transsexual girlfriend?
Every time I set foot in Tim Horton’s, it’s with the intention of buying one particular donut: the honey crueller. Crusty sugar on the outside, melty on the inside and just a touch of honey aroma. That’s what I set out to buy.Then I get in line.
I wait, staring at the donut case.
I wait, eyeing the others.
I wait, trying to figure out which donut’s the biggest.
I order an apple fritter.
It’s not that I’m particularly fond of apple fritters. Apples don’t excite me and cinnamon’s for pies. Yet I order an apple fritter every single time. I order the apple fritter because it’s the biggest, plain and simple. In a landscape of tiny donuts, the fritter is the big daddy, the meal donut, the breakfast of champions.
The tease is that I never get my crueller. Today I was at the point where I couldn’t even remember what a honey crueller tasted like. I had to have it. But the fritter…so big, so satisfying…oh…decisions, decisions…
As you can see, I settled on both: crueller and fritter.
It might be a bit of a stretch to draw comparisons between my donut selection and my personal life, but I’m going for it anyway. (I’m highly caffeinated at the moment; what have I got to lose?) The crueller vs. fritter dilemma makes me think of my relationship with Sweet. I love the whole experience of dating women, but—who am I kidding?—I also love fucking a nice hard cock.
I want a beautiful woman on my arm, but I also want cock. I want the crueller and the fritter. Sweet resolves that dilemma entirely. She is the absolute perfect partner: a gorgeous girl with a cock to fuck.
What a honey-glazed catch my Sweet is.
Bright blessings,
gigi
