Were the Intentions Behind Salmacis’ Prayer Filled With Love or Hate?
April 24, 2018
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Statue of Socrates, the boy booty-hole diddler. Yup, your favorite Greek philosopher was buying pizza from that one place.

You’re driving in your hooptee with some fine-ass Puerto Rican mami sitting in the front passenger seat.  She’s your friend Pacito’s sister, Clarita.  Just like her name, the bitch’s intentions of being a dick tease and a hoe were pretty clear as soon as you saw her.  Clarita is wearing a dress she saw some other famous hoe on Instagram with a million followers was wearing.  Naturally, she cannot afford the same one, so she bought the knock-off version of it, which let’s be honest, it’s the same shit.  Despite it being a knockoff, it’s pretty much lingerie, but according to today’s standards, it’s a damn modest and conservative dress for hoes.  Point is, bitch, be looking hot in it.

Now you’re getting distracted by them big-ass-titties she got.  Obviously, she chose that dress to show off those titties, but she won’t admit to that.  While staring at them looking all juicy, you get a sudden rock-solid erection while ignoring the fact that Pacito might not approve of the blood flow to your dick.  You’re distracted, and you keep staring at them.  Naturally, according to today’s standards and subjective moral values, wearing a slutty outfit means nothing other than her being a strong and independent woman.  Nothing for you to stare at, despite it being in your face and very obvious.

Clarita tells you to knock it off and is already calling you a rapist, Nazi, homophobic, Trump supporter; the typical feminist jargon.  She was about to text Pacito to complain about what you had done.  Now the warmed-up blood flowing through your dick turns ice cold and brings you back to reality.  You realize what’s going on and now you’re feeling nervous and anxious.  Your eyes were off of the road this entire time, and before you know it, you crashed into a truck that was delivering logs of very solid hardwood.  Hundreds upon hundreds of solid wooden logs.  The solid hardwood logs just tumble all over your car crushing you both inside the vehicle.

Somehow you survive the solid hardwood logs and wake up in the hospital a week later from a coma.  The doctor and nurses come in to remove the bandage wrapped over your right eye.  You’re still confused as to what happened.  They bring you a mirror and instruct you to look at yourself.  You realize that your right eye is a green color and different from your left eye.  A very distinct-looking green color.  The type you want looking at you when receiving a blowjob from a fine-ass-looking chick.

What happened was, a small splinter had pierced your right eye.  They performed an eye transplant on you.  The performing surgeon at the ER used Clarita’s eye because she didn’t make it, however, luckily for you she was an organ donor.  She just couldn’t breathe anymore under the number of solid hardwood logs and died.  You now have the eye of Pacito’s sister.  Her green and seductive eye would make any man nut in a minute receiving a blowjob with eyes like those staring at him.

You never share the story of what happened in the car with Pacito.  Every time you meet Pacito, you remind him of his sister when he stares deep into your right green eye.  However you’re very bashful, you look away quickly.  Mainly because you felt it was your fault for having a hard-on staring at his sister which eventually led to her being crushed by solid hardwood logs.  Literally, hundreds of solid hardwood logs fell on her and crushed her to death.  It was a pang of guilt you now have to live with, especially whenever you come face to face with Pacito.

One day, while looking at yourself in the mirror you ponder at what you have become.

“Am I a woman for having an organ of a woman?  Am I the man I used to be?  Oh lord!  Hast thou abandoned me and punished me for my sins? Or am I amongst the Erotes such as Hermaphroditus?  Was my lust similar to that of Salmacis for Hermaphroditus?  Is that why Clarita has become a part of me?  Or was it her lust after me?”

Posted in: RNS Philosophy