I’m really no different. I’m not smarter and I certainly don’t rise above the earthly.
Orgasm.
That’s all I want half the time. I need it to sleep and to not feel sick to my stomach after thinking too hard about myself and my more-than-numerous shortcomings. I need it to calm down and quit it with the shaking.
Expand, cuntract, bite down.
My sexuality is a drug addiction. Packaged to be glamorous but still deadly as fuck. The more I have, the more I want. I’ve taken to using it to drive people away. If I’m afraid I’ll love you, I’ll make you scream and claw me and then I’ll never talk to you again so that I don’t have to deal with you or the feelings you force on me.
Didn’t you know? It’s my goal in life to be cold as ice and independent. So fuck me harder and stop thinking about me, because we both know I think about you more and that is just NOT okay with me. The scariest thing someone could do is tell me to stop. (Now what? How do I make this go away without any questions?)
It’s kinda gloomy how sex is supposed to bond people, because it’s the most efficient means of pushing people away that I’ve come across so far.
Yes. More.
I think I’ll stick with this for awhile.
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