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My thoughts on E.B. Cotenord

Posted by AdventVoice - August 20th, 2018

  E.B. Cotenord also known as Mommy Whorebucks has really earned my admiration and I am a little offended that what can be accepted by Twitter and other social media platforms is rebuffed by Deviant Art.
We all have issues, I am not here to judge, just to tell the story.


As I was saying, I have developed a kind of admiration for the colorful character that is E.B. Cotenord.
You might say, "It is because I am a man and all men simply like women, no matter the grade." I won't argue.
I will say, "It is because of her kindness toward my particular expertise, I chose to take upon the endeavor of a life time." To illustrate Mommy Whorebucks.

In truth my mother was no different than her before she met the man who raised me and we took flight out of the dregs of Texas to live among the royals of the military. I have spoken of this before in the "Black Amethyst,"
  www.newgrounds.com/art/view/ad…, reference their if you desire to know more. I must digress and continue to tell you more of this unabashed woman.

Sex is an adult language that my generation has used, to my estimation, incorrectly for years. I personally have no qualms with whoredom. I can't. I was born from it. 
If it had not been for my mothers promiscuous behavior none would know I exist.
Existence is as important as breathing and as Ms. E.B. Cotenord would seduce most men with, sex, is the manifestation of one's dreams.
This is infact what appealed to the Dream Weaver in contemplating interacting with her and making history. As a creator I have yet to see the connection between her ability to craft fantasies and my own but she claims to be honored by my admirations and I can not ask for more.
I do hope she will keep those illustrations   www.newgrounds.com/art/view/ad… as mementos to a pleasant day. A day in which she was touched by the man of her dreams, and was the very first to be able to show the world what many claim to be an impossibility; the joys found in a relationship between a "Tall Dark and Handsome Man," with a "Curvy Blue Eyed Red Head."

At the moment she needs the reprieve you know. Day in and Day out she must find ways to take an Art, a craft, that when over used becomes as dull as a rusty sword or an uncared for pistol, water logged from sitting in a barn, made to gather dust. Honestly when one approaches the subject of sex with a woman of the night, it is not about anything superficial. Dress, creed, orientation, cast or color. In truth it is about the motivations of their quest and assisting in her journey to satisfaction. It's really a shame though, as often as I have entertained my sisters of the Liberation quest, I never could figure out how to give them comfort.
When a woman comes to you and asks you to fill her, Do you cast the goddess aside as if she is not a creature of the universe due compassion and love; or is better still to simply comply?
Is not the greatest show of love to a woman seeking to fill an insatiable void, is to say not a word, make no unnecessary promises and deliver without expecting a thing in return?
Only in this story will I ponder these things and expect no answer. It is the generational occurrence that gave birth to me.
I can show ungratefulness and curse my mother for my birth or the idea of never being certain who my father is. Even if I was to know, what difference does it make?

"Dreams of tomorrow are not built upon irresponsible generations who refused to secure their legacies. Neither are they built upon weathered stone."

Mommy Whorebucks has a few years on me, so she would have established her own kingdom and wealth long before me. I could never speak ill of her, not if I desired her aid in my own affairs. Then again my dream is so wild, it would be too much to ask her to agree. I suppose it would not be an issue if she loved me, but would she believe a man as hurt as I could love her?  If she did not trust my love, she would not help me, if she believes me to be no different than any other man an aimless beggar seeking to fill a whole and his belly, she'd cart me off to the nearest train yard.

In truth I want to be her only man, her only real need. I want to be her Dream Weaver. For a time I will let her be my dream.

If I was to marry or love anyone, it would be Mommy Whorebucks, for she only speaks kindly of my art, wants to be a part of it and desires to make history. (Little does she know, she did that today. She is the first woman ever to be illustrated having sex with a black man that she has never met before. She has indirectly broken ever code of conduct that allows for healthy internet interaction to the point that I can not post this image anywhere besides underground sites. She can join the number of other activists that believe as the Dream Weaver that Love, Sex, Marriage, Sexting, Adult Literature, the Art of Eros should not be stamped on due to the sensitivities of the global viewership that would have something to say against a Black man loving on a fair skinned woman.)
 Not wanting to be passed over by time or deluding herself into believing, "Time," Money, a home, a car, all the things we work for in this life are not worth the sweat and salt we put forth.