Oh, but that felt glorious.
Lovely, even. It was needed. Glad to be done.
Despite the fact that it all breaks down; that novelty, and the thrill of a different worry against the skin, dries to a paper rash of friction, so soon as the day after; and that the dustbunnies will begin to eddy again in the unused rooms of sexual exploration, even before they're completely empty… even without all that, is this: kicking out my heels and wrapping them around someone else’s back. It was fun.
It’s a florid (grudging) way of saying I’m happy that I got laid.
Oh, and it’s been awhile. I almost shocked myself when I counted on my fingers the other day: four, five – my god – six months. Am I joking? Something must be done.
I mean, you’ve only got so much time. So many possible orgasams in the allotted space, a finite number of good kisses that can part you lips, make you hungry…. Everything in this life is limited. It’s all going to come to an end. What the hell was I doing, sitting around, playing Final Fantasy and wrestling the cats away from the soft, clawable portions of the furniture?
When I could’ve been performing "desperate acts of carnal passion on the parlor floor"?
What indeed.
Well. Fixable. Fixing. Fixed. Starved kisses have left their badges all down me. Under these clothes I’m covered in hickeys.
I wonder if I’ve done the right thing, the responsible thing, by sleeping with V. again?
…
Fuck it.
Did.
Done.
Despite the fact that it all breaks down; that novelty, and the thrill of a different worry against the skin, dries to a paper rash of friction, so soon as the day after; and that the dustbunnies will begin to eddy again in the unused rooms of sexual exploration, even before they're completely empty… even without all that, is this: kicking out my heels and wrapping them around someone else’s back. It was fun.
It’s a florid (grudging) way of saying I’m happy that I got laid.
Oh, and it’s been awhile. I almost shocked myself when I counted on my fingers the other day: four, five – my god – six months. Am I joking? Something must be done.
I mean, you’ve only got so much time. So many possible orgasams in the allotted space, a finite number of good kisses that can part you lips, make you hungry…. Everything in this life is limited. It’s all going to come to an end. What the hell was I doing, sitting around, playing Final Fantasy and wrestling the cats away from the soft, clawable portions of the furniture?
When I could’ve been performing "desperate acts of carnal passion on the parlor floor"?
What indeed.
Well. Fixable. Fixing. Fixed. Starved kisses have left their badges all down me. Under these clothes I’m covered in hickeys.
I wonder if I’ve done the right thing, the responsible thing, by sleeping with V. again?
…
Fuck it.
Did.
Done.
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