remember that show about the ancient chinese cats
how many “friend-zoned” guys does it take to change a light bulb? None they’ just compliment it and get pissed when it won’t screw.
so I was forced to go to church and all these babies were screaming and I said “we wouldn’t be having this problem if the...
Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.
I’ve never been the one to ‘date’. I never liked the thought of being with someone every other month, claiming I’m ‘so happy’. How can you be happy with someone, be broken up after only a short while, then off to someone else?
The other thing I don’t get is being with someone for so long, breaking up, and then fairly shortly after being with someone else, and they make you ‘so happy’. The process boggles my mind.
To a point, it pisses me the fuck off. But to another extreme, I know it isn’t any of my business. To the ladder, I hate seeing people together one minute groping each other and saying that they are practically soulmates and then the other second they’re broken up and one or both are with another claiming they are content. What?
Another thought is that when two people are together for an extended period of time(i.e. more than six months in my book), spend the majority of that time in each others’ presence, then poof! broken up. One is heartbroken and the other is off with a whore or a player, not too shortly after the breakup. How does this happen? I don’t fucking get it.
I guess I just know too many liars, because the question, “Were you seeing someone else?” is just awaiting a benign “No.” for an answer.
Maybe I’m just unique to this situation, as I’ve only had maybe five or so ‘real’ boyfriends(more than six months relationship long), and been broken up with twice. They both have claimed that nothing was on the side, and I believed them. Today I had the privilege of closure for the most recent, yet the first I don’t think I will ever truly know. What I do know is they took my walls, tore them down, raped my emotions, led me to believe a false life, promised me things that were never ever true, and I fell for it.
Maybe that’s my problem; I always believe.
Maybe it’s time to forget.
Maybe it’s time to just stop.