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Chelsea Werner-Jatzke Panda Porn When I loved I loved a panda. Notoriously bumbling lovers, the domesticated panda is forgetful of pleasure. Male pandas are known as boars. For two months we held hands. The panda has six claws folding out from their forepaws. My handholding panda. Assumed rude for their silence, in fact pandas are simple: solitary and shy. My panda was bashful. Preparing for a beach day found him hand holding a razor. A panda has two types of hair: An oily, fine underfur covered by a length of coarse. As I helped shave my panda’s back I sang the Panda Pants Dance. It goes like this: Put a panda in some pants and he’ll dance. Put some pants on a panda and he’s dancing. The panda pants dance! Pandas require no special place to bed down, they lay themselves wherever they happen to be. To love a panda is to bandy about between the sheets; pained rather than pinned, pining not primed. It never gets better. I loved a panda who loved porn. I tried to accept it–YOUNG COLLEGE SLUTS!!!! Two Petite Brunettes Go At It. Horny Teenager Finds Friend’s Dad. Standard stuff. It bothered me. Because my panda wasn’t there for me in that slutty friend’s dad sort of way. Because my panda was confused when it came to the inside of me. And because my panda’s back hair grew in patchy, his longing was layering himself.


SpringGun | Issue 9 | 2014  

Kiik A.K. • Oxlip and Pearl • page 1 Chaim ben Avram • from the philadelphian talmud • page 2 Jill Darling • Laundry, and Other Domestic Adv...

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