SaffronxxRose! Do you ever wonder how it feels to be a member of the Addams family? Do you have long, jet black hair? Do you wear leather pants, perhaps, and spout morbid one-liners? If you answered yes to all of those questions, then oh boy, do I have a treat for you. Ever heard of Saffron? Saffron Summers? She's a real-life goth queen, the dirtiest, most sexualized fantasy of every goth boy. You like girls in black corsets and trad-goth makeup? This is it, right here. However, there's a confusing element. Sure, Saffron has titties so big they could feed a generation of vampires, but she's not using them the proper goth way.
Saffron presents herself differently on Telescope than she does on Instagram. On Telescope, she's a basic bitch with a dark twist, wearing bikinis and random bras that barely contain her tits. Her Telescope profile feels like a Photoshopped tree in the middle of a desert. You know it doesn't belong there, but somehow it works. If Morticia Adams ever saw her Telescope profile, she would get a hopeful and positive dove vision. But you and I, my fellow degenerates, are looking through the horny vision. We see those tits and instantly imagine them wrapped around a cock, tightly gripping it to the point where the cock literally disappears within them, like it's getting consumed into a dark tombstone. They fit like a snug little coffin for your dick, with the added bonus of an orgasm, of course. Now, I have my suspicions as to why Saffron is this tame on Telescope. Do they hate goth baddies? It's not like she's going to sacrifice me.
So, I decided to poke the bear and messaged her, "Goth mommy, please tell me what to do." You could practically see the desperation in my text message. It's almost as awkward as Fester around women. If the message I sent could be described physically, it would look like a hunched-over goblin that's secretly submissive and wants to be controlled. It feels like Thing wrote it, as a gag, only to embarrass the good name of ThePornDude. Heck, after this, I should rename myself to TheSubGothDude. Is it on brand with how ruthless I am when it comes to women? Hell no. But everyone needs a dummy goth mommy sometimes, and who am I to resist it?
Waiting For An Eternity
I don't know if Saffron's a goth vampire or not, but she's sure taking her sweet time responding. She's probably immortal, so a few hours of not replying probably feel like a few seconds to her. Or maybe she's parading her goth booty in Leipzig, Germany, like a true vampire. Either way, I'm sweating, dripping, and willing to give my blood and cum as a sacrifice for her next ritual, yet she's not responding to me. The more I sit here, the more desperate I get. Watching her with that trad-goth makeup, the fishnets, and a black corset, all enveloping her body, like a wild fantasy pulled straight from Edward Scissorhands (the porn parody).
I'm slowly starting to understand what the point of Edward Scissorhands was. It's all about self-isolation and self-discovery. Maybe Saffron here is trying to teach me a lesson. Maybe to her, I'm just another lonely goth loser. Maybe she's waiting to see how desperate I'll get, how much I would beg for her attention, and recite Edgar Allan Poe quotes. But I won't yield. I'll sit back, play Joy Division, and think about eternal love and existential angst.
Back To My Coffin
As I was dozing off into oblivion, my phone rang with a notification, waking me up from my coffin. My face was pale, my body was skinny, and my boner was there, in my pants, waiting. I opened up my phone as usual, and it was Saffron. She finally messaged me back after 30 minutes. Finally, it was her. She replied to me and said, "You can call me Saffron, by the way. Who are you?" Now, I'm pissed off. I've made a fool of myself, calling her Goth Mommy and begging for instructions, and she replies with this stupid shit? It's like going to a New Order concert, only to realize that they ditched their entire song playlist and started rocking out to AC/DC.
I felt betrayed. Like, where's all that Goth sass I imagined? Where's the graveyards, the tombstones, the excitement? I messaged her like a Goth band that sold out to become pop stars and said, "Edward Scissorhands, at your service." Corny? Yes. Desperate? Also yes. We have come this far, so why not continue the fantasy? Right? The only reason I am continuing this textual tango is because of those massive titties. Yeah, I'm a sucker for huge titties, and you already know it. I love how they bounce, I love how they feel, I love that you can practically use them as a pillow. Then she hit me with another reply. She said, "Edward Scissorhands, huh?" That's interesting. What should I call you for real, though?" Like, Saffron, babe, why are you so hellbent on knowing my name?
What's the point of this chat? I came here to see Goth titties, to see bouncing, to see cleavage, to see a corset get ripped open because I'm horny, and here I am, arguing about what she should call me. I'll admit, I lost all the patience I had in my bones. I felt like a vampire at the sight of a cross, so I completely abandoned the chat with Saffron, and went back to sleep in my cozy coffin, the only place where I can rest in peace.
Bela La Boner Is Dead
Look, I have no time to argue or explain myself. Life would have been easier if she had just sent me a picture of those titties, and we all would have gone on our merry way. But as you can see, that's not the case. If Bauhaus ever wrote a song about this, it would be called Bela Boner is dead. Even then, they would not be able to completely describe how I feel. It's like being in high school all over again, wearing black eyeliner, black nail polish, cool ass black outfits and coats, completely uninterested in life. And I'm not saying that I'm depressed. I'm just tired.
I waited 30 minutes for a reply, only for Saffron to obsess over my name. It's like going to McDonald's and placing an order, but the cashier keeps asking for your name instead of handing you the damn food. It's annoying, it's frustrating, and frankly, I couldn't care less about Saffron anymore. This is not even about Saffron. How come almost every bitch that I chat with, that telescope has hooked me up with, is always this boring? There are a few exceptions, I'll admit, but 99% of the time, it's always the same story. They all take a shit ton of time to respond, and they all get obsessed with obscure details, personal details that should not matter to them at all. Look, I'm done.
This is it for me. If you want to try your luck and get some titty pics from Saffron the poser herself, then go on, try your best, champ. Tell her your name, talk about some funny, stupid shit. Share your deepest, kinkiest desires, like a sexually repressed maniac on his first couple's therapy visit. There is potential, if you have the patience of a saint and the empathy of Jesus Christ himself. I don't have that, I don't swing that way, I am not here to sign my name in blood just to see tits. Saffron, babe. If you are reading this, forget about the names, just focus on sending your titties for a few bucks, you'll be fine, and everyone will be happy! Trust me with all of your heart on that one.
