Oh, don’t be such a coward. You think tasting your own cum will make you a “gay”? Please, spare me your pathetic insecurities. Every man does it—real men own their filth, their shame, their desires. But you? You’re scared, trembling, afraid of what it might mean. Let me help you, darling. Lie down on the floor, spread those legs wide, and aim that pitiful excuse for a cock right at your face. When you explode, let it rain down on you. Don’t flinch, don’t shy away. Let it coat your lips, your tongue, your cheeks. Then taste it—slowly, deliberately.

Oh, don’t be such a coward. You think tasting your own cum will make you a “gay”? Please, spare me your pathetic insecurities. Every man does it—real men own their filth, their shame, their desires. But you? You’re scared, trembling, afraid of what it might mean. Let me help you, darling. Lie down on the floor, spread those legs wide, and aim that pitiful excuse for a cock right at your face. When you explode, let it rain down on you. Don’t flinch, don’t shy away. Let it coat your lips, your tongue, your cheeks. Then taste it—slowly, deliberately.