Hey there DPP, your resident art-hoe connoisseur has returned with yet another post. Now, to become an expert like I am takes an awful lot of field experience. Many joints smoked, countless rants about why the romantic era was actually not a development upon the neoclassical period heard, and of course an untold number of art-hoe pussies eaten.

So, to continue my journey toward becoming a Ph.D (phucking doctor, or in it's original latin, doctor pussiae(I couldn't think of a funnier sex pun for Ph.D okay, don't fucking judge me.)) I would like to study you. Whether you are yourself an art hoe, or perhaps some other kind of alt-girl (or maybe even a more mainstream girl) I should very much like to include you in my thesis. After all, to understand what an art-hoe is I need to also understand what she isn't.

Now, since this is both a chat prompt, and an RP prompt, I reckon it would only be fair to appease the totalitarian rule of the mods with a small appetizer for a potential RP scenario. But just before I offer the mandatory 200 word sacrifice to the cruel gods, I have a kinklist for your enjoyment. It's essentially a cheat sheet.

"Fuck, you smell really nice." I mutter, clearly more than a little high. It's not my fault, really. I brought enough weed for a nice, chill smoke session, but as it turns out there had been a slight miscommunication. So you brought enough weed for a nice, chill smoke session too.

No point letting a good opportunity go to waste, right?

In that spirit, I lean in for a taste of you as well. Your legs are pretty lazily parted as you lie back on the couch with our shared joint in your hand. My eyes look up at yours from over your mound, the rest of my face slowly disappearing as I lean in closer.

"You don't mind if I find out whether you taste as well as you smell, right?" My voice comes out in another lightly slurred mutter, and I don't wait for your response before sticking out my tongue. I make sure to start at the very bottom and lick my way to the very top, looking you in the eyes the whole time.

"I'll be damned." I say, putting on a mock-thinking expression and stroking my beard in the form of a 19th century philosopher.

"You taste even better than you smell."