The Hunt of Cunt

The Game

The game. I love the game. I play for high stakes. I play for prime cunt.

The best part of the game for me is the anticipation of cunt. I'm not talking just any cunt, oh no, the carrier of my cunt must be brilliant - well, as brilliant as her female mind will let her be. Nothing kills a man's; this man's, desire like a dumb cunt.

I'm a busy man. I always see that whichever cunt I'm pursuing is well aware of just how busy a man I am. This way she'll think 'Oh I must be special if he's finding the time to call'.

They say women are schemers but what these scheming women do is child's play. You see, they don't have the IQ needed for my sophisticated scheming.

My game, The Hunt of Cunt, is simple So simple that women and their emotionally polluted complicated thought processes never even realise what's hit them.

Beginning the hunt

I begin my game by pretending to be a dumb cunt myself. You see, I let them - she and her cunt - think that they have the upper hand. I call, I email, I compliment and I let her think: 'Yes, he is stunned by my beauty! He wants me, all of me, and not just my pussy."

Don't get me wrong. I love women. I respect them. I worship them. Where will I be without them? Where will I get cunt? From cunt I came and to cunt I shall return for all my days. For all three score and ten if the Lord wishes or more if he is so kind to me his child.

In this age of technology the first date doesn't come until I've impressed her with my technological skills. So during the first week of my cunt-wooing I text, and drop comments on all the social networks she has joined online. I let her know that I am a man of many talents.

Women are such suckers for these little text messages and online flirts. So by deepening my flirting with her through technology I am preparing this sucker for technological flirting to be my sucker. I am bringing this cunt closer to me and building the anticipation as I go.

The Kill

Now after I've given her the very guided idea that I am chasing her (and not her cunt) I pull the disappearing act followed by the surprise visit which leads to the first date and inevitably the kill.

A man is only as good as his first date, his first kiss, his first man to cunt meeting. He has to show them - she and her cunt - on the first date that he wants her and not just her evil cunt out to steal every man who looks her way. After pursuing her hotly for about a week via all the wonderful technology now available for the Hunt of Cunt I ease off.

I remove myself from her communication range. By so doing I give her time to notice the presence of my absence, to think of me, and to finally initiate communication. She will initiate communication in some manner available to her.

You see, it isn't her fault but her cunt craves the attention, her cunt knows what I'm really after and wants it too. Her cunt fights against these evil values society has chained them with. Her cunt fights for what is natural. It fights for life.

The very first call or message from her slams the cage's door shut. I leave the communication to her now and soon she'll be the one pursuing me. The next step is the surprise visit. My favourite method to use here is to park in fron her office then call.

"Hi," she says. Her voice is fueled with the excitement pulsing from her knowing cunt.

"Guess where I am sweetheart?" I ask. I know I am causing havoc in her panties. Her cunt is thinking, panting, 'Oh he's so close, so close'.

So she comes outside. Sits next to me. I tell her I've missed her. I tell her she was on my mind. I tell her I'm late for this meeting but I just had to see her. I tell her that I needed to see her and that right there get's me my first date. It's funny how women need to be needed.

She's agreed to meet me for dinner. The surprise visit has accomplished its mission. Before I leave I kiss her. Nothing to betray how much I want her cunt. No. It's a gentle, almost caring kiss; it is the most important kiss a man needs to master if he wants to get prime cunt. Trust me.

Finally, cunt!

Are you thinking that on our first date I rip her panties off and plunge right into her cunt?

Of course not!
I charm her. I listen to her. I tell her things about myself. Things she will probably think I only tell to people who matter. I play the game. I carefully go through the steps expected of me, the steps that take me to cunt.

I listen as she speaks of her struggle to be taken seriously in this world. Seriously by us men.

"Having two perfect breasts," she says, trying no doubt to sound witty, "and nice rounded ass means that there are hardly any men who will take you seriously as a professional."

Sweetheart, I wanted to tell her, you have no idea just how seriously men take you. Just push those tits in a wonder bra and see the magic it creates for you. Women have life so easy!

Now all this time, as she talks and I listen my eyes have been sampling that fine piece of cunt. Oh, if only she knew what power she had. 'Pussy got power, boy, pussy got plenty power', my father always told me.

The second date, now that's when I do the panty ripping. That's when I get down to the cunt viewing. No. I don't plunge into the cunt on the second date. No. I worship cunt, remember? So I get on my knees and I worship my hard earned cunt with not a word about how much I'd like to replace my tongue with something else.

I send her home after cunt worshipping. We're still in week two of my cunt-wooing mind you. By the end of the second week I've sampled that cunt with my relevant body part.

In two weeks I go from being a cunt hunter to a Prey of Cunt. Now being a cunt prey is a whole different story. A story I'll tell you another time but right now I'm just concerned with finally getting prime cunt!

The Message

As stupid as the above might sound to some of you, it really does work! This is how you get cunt and remember being a Cunt Worshipper is the only way to get prime cunt. No that last sentence wasn't the message. This right here is the message:

Women are going to read this. I am educating them about the nasty cunt hunting ways of men. Why? It's my 95th birthday today and I'm a permanent Cunt Worshipper these days. Why should I make it easy for you dumb cunts to get cunt? Ha!

He wore my shirt

The afternoon was cool. The sun was held prisoner by fat black menacing clouds that suffocated every arm of its ray. The wind whipped the earth and traffic crawled in the gridlock of the afternoon commute.

And that is when I saw you. Standing in the shade and even as the wicked wind whipped your hair into disarray, I saw you raise your hand and shield your eyes. I saw you.

I saw you and I heard the stitches that held my heart together begin to tear. The first rip tore your smiling face from happier days through me. Stabbed that single memory into me. But wrenching deeper was the memory of the hand now hiding your eyes caressing my face. I saw you that day standing in the bus shed where it all started.

The sky rumbled and the clouds got darker. The rumble grew to a roar as the sky shook in anger threatening to burst the heavy clouds. The traffic continued in stalemate and I saw you head my way.

With purposeful strides your long denim clad legs moved in unison to the pounding in my ear as memories continued to burn the back of my eyes.

You wore my shirt.

Somewhere in the haze of heartache and unwanted memories my heart sang at the realisation.

He was wearing the shirt that I gave him.

The constriction in my chest was sweet pain that I am not ashamed to say I felt. My chest constricted and I forgot to breath. I held on to that memory. I held on and my broken heart began to mend.

He wore my shirt. It was all I could think of, the shirt that I gave to him on that very special day, he still wore. The shirt that created memories that kept me warm and sane when I tore it all away. I felt my heart beat again. He wore my shirt. The shirt he said he’ll cherish always.

The dank atmosphere began to light up with white hot streaks that illuminated the stagnant afternoon. The wind picked up a chill and the clouds hung to the earth pregnant with inevitable rain. And then I called his name.

My throat clogged up and again I forgot how to breathe.

You stopped.

Should I call again? I warred with myself and then you turned and smiled.

My heart soared beyond the black clouds and smiled with the imprisoned sun.

I made my way through the traffic of vehicle and people and stumbled as you stretched your hands to me. Your warm eyes banished the chill in the air and I felt the last piece of my broken heart made whole again. Brown eyes that were last dull with pain and resignation now showed love once more. The arms that I banished opened to me once more.

I dodged a lady loaded with hats for sale and almost lost my toes to an angry taxi driver in my haste to get back to your comforting embrace only to be cut off by a bus.

My impatience sizzled as the light again stabbed the clouds and haloed your beautiful smiling face. The bus finally got out of the way. The thunder clapped loudly with a fierce bolt of lightening that sliced the clouds delivering the rains.

My face upturned, I silently thanked the heavens and then I looked your way.

I felt the fissures of my heart open anew.

The silence was cut by the rumbling sky as the fissures opened wider still.

As the rain came down from the heavens in a torrent drenching me I watched you, in my shirt, give your love- my love- to another. As the rain ran off the road it took with it the pieces of my broken heart and all our love down the clogged city drain.