Momma , ....Uhh... nevermind! I was going to ask..

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“Do you know what your daughters are up to”..

But I suspect you do!
In your own unhaltered, bared-titty romp  through the Elysian Fields your mind conjures as potential scenarios of possibility outside the barns of others conventionally, sheltered cloisterings of afraid-to-be bared evocations in the tempest of the public.
“Silly dumb bitches and pussyeaters who are no more than props and extras of other’s indifferent dramas, whose storyline doesn’t give a damn about them, as long they play along and do what’s expected of them WITHOUT HAVING TO BE TOLD!!”

Laughing as she blew out the drag of reefer she’d been holding in while holding that thought at the same time, “So they keep their desires in those furtive, behind closed door, secret nooks and crannies of their souls-or what’s left of them! Their true reality kept hidden away in the recessed stalls of their repressed, self-despising, accommodating anonymity”.

But Lil’ Sista-your spittin-image spirit-could care less about the hollow pretensions others..
“How they glory in their pursuit of that insecure social standing with others in those flocks of psychological support they need from others. Just so they can imagine to be seen by the paid, busy-body pontificators; but even more so, with each other who would take them down as quickly as those in Salem did to those they accused of witchcraft. They did it because they didn’t adhere and conform, so that no questions were asked of what is going on”.

Her lips curling into a sneer as she thought, “..and doing it all as if they don’t want anyone to think that they’re trying to be something more special than what in fact the have given up trying to be-something more than a programmed automaton”.

“I just wants to have that crawl space of being to worm into and play and nourish myself in the same re-creational awe, similar to that world I sensed in my crib and floor explorations as a babe just out of the swaddling cocoon of my blanket of figurative and literal innocence in my ‘Garden of Eden’ of wonder”.

But Lil’ Sista isn’t gonna make her case to the jury of ‘her peers’ about something as personal as “my lust”, as she admittedly thinks of them. She’s looking at my crotch and wants to have and to get her hands and mouth to rub my cock like a baker moulding some dough in his hands. Because then she want my cock to be like carpenter’s saw ripping into a piece of wood. This ‘piece’ would be, she’s salivating over are “..those drawers of mine”. And as that piece-of-lumber, she knew that she’d prefer that I’d get to take off her panties in the back hallways of the school during lunch to feed that midday ravenous appetite for rough sex for the protein she’d be getting from me than through the lunch-line!

Much like her elder sistea, who goes about in her own ‘Not-give-a-fuck’ disdainful attitude  of naked brazenness in her own feral cat-like ways,  is in her room viewing her sexy vixenhood, thinking “Why should I be so attached to the idea of virtuous chastity for people who think they are the clothing of me in the identity they want me to parade down the catwalk of their social fashion for the narrative threads that they would like to have spun for me and my precious times, trying to determine how I’d be identified other than the slut I am..?”