There's something we need to talk about. Why do I have three pairs of my knickers here? I found them in your room while tidying up like a good stepmum. Shocked, I saw these, then these, and these. Horrified, I left— who knows what else is there? Stealing my knickers? Admit it. It's wrong, but I'm not surprised. You don't get attention from women because you've got a tiny little willy down there. No one's interested in that pathetic thing. That's why you stole them—for a whiff of feminine scent, the closest you'll get. Bet you wrapped them around your little nub to rub off. Should've picked a G-string; it'd fit better. You thought it'd grow? Nope, probably shrank. Intimacy's thrilling, but you'll never have it. Sad, not wanted—that's your reality. Our secret: your theft and your insignificant dick. You've ruined them anyway—keep the filthy things as a "gift."

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