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My friends, it has often been said that I like hags. My friends, I like hags... No, friends, I love hags!
I love dusty wombs. I love expiring eggs. I love sagging milkers. I love hairy bushes. I love sweaty armpits. I love cute feet. I love plump bellies. I love fat asses. I love thick thighs.
Loving hags in the bedroom, in the living room, in the kitchen, in the office.
I cherish each and every way hags can be loved on this earth.
I love fertilising hags with my youthful seed after their menopause. My heart leaps with joy whenever a hag is pomfed into bed and teased into crying laughter by well placed kisses. And there is nothing like using genuine affection to destroy her sadness. And the feeling that comes when a hag returns home tired after work, only to be welcomed by a loving hug, is such an exquisite feeling. It moves me deep within my heart to watch an old hag being creampied over and over into her long-neglected womb.
Gentlemen... All I ask for is a hag, a hag so old to make Hell itself tremble. Gentlemen, I ask you a fellow hag enjoyer what is it that you really want? Do you wish for more hags as I do? Do you wish for a neglected, single hag? A hag whose thirst is built like iron and lightning and fire? Do you ask for a hag to drain you like a tempest, leaving not even traces of sperm in your balls!?
...Very well. Then hags is what you shall have. We are youthful males, ready to inseminate all hags with our seed. But... After watching them endure over thirty years wallowing in loneliness, for us, a simple "ordinary" hag will no longer be sufficient. We need an ANCIENT hag! A hag older than any other that man's history has ever known!
