Confessional

I want to slam you against the wall, jerk your head back to expose that creamy swath of neck, and leave a bite-mark trail that winds around and around your chest. I want to pull your hair because it hurts so good for you and kiss the underside of your tiny, shell-like ears. I'll tie you up with the bedsheets that I've ripped and blindfold you for good measure. Turn the lights off. Blow hot air in skinny streams down your pale stomach and around your throbbing cock. I will lick and suck and nip. Bruise your lips and make you bleed. Swallow every moan you groan, rake my nails down your back.

You'll let me desecrate you.

Yes, No, Maybe So

I want to.

No, I don't want to.

I want to.

No, I don't want to.

I want to.

No no no no nononono--

YES. Fucking YES.

How about both? How about I fuck you and not fuck you? Can that happen? Sure, it can: I'll explain it away with theoretical physics.

PROBLEM SOLVED.

Ugh, not really.

I NEED SOMEONE BETTER. LIKE A WHOLE LOT.

He's Diane Lane and I'm Olivier Martinez

You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. You don't have a child, but still. Girlfriend. You're Diane Lane.

And I'm the super suave (HAR), super smooth (HAR), super handsome (FUCK YEAH) foreigner (LOOK I'M ASIAN) who leads you down the road to temptation.

Weeeell, in the movie your wife murders me with a snowglobe that she had given you as a gift and then you gave to ME as a gift--hahahahaha. Then you try to turn her in.

Hmm maybe Unfaithful isn't quiet my life yet.

JUST WAIT THOUGH 8D

Off/On

He likes buttsex. And he's short, as in ridiculously short. Two-inches-from-my-height kind of short. And his hair. It's pale fire orange--flattering in some lights, completely unattractive in others. His shoulders are too narrow. He slouches. His neck is short and thick. I think he's small down there too from what I could tell in his sweatpants-outline. He makes sexist jokes, and I can't tell if he's actually joking or not. HE'S TOO SKINNY, AND IT'S NOT EVEN DEFINED MUSCLE-SKINNY. Unacceptable. I can do so much better. I deserve so much better.

His eyes are really blue. Blue is my favorite color. His voice is nice to listen to. Sometimes he smells pleasant. I've never been with a redhead before. He's right here, and my other boys are way over there. He's smart when he isn't being an ass. Hannah the Legs has told me he's good in bed. I'm extremely horny. I have no other options within a 100-mile radius of me. He has his smart moments. Proximity, basically. Minimal requirements, essentially. A secret desire to get back at my parents? Okay, now I'm just grabbing at straws.

Delicious tension. That's it. It's the tension. It's my favorite toy in the world.

Crack-Pipe

Yeah apparently I've been smoking it because the two dreams I've had for the past two nights could only be induced by liberally smoking from the crack pipe. I'm talking drags that last forever, luxurious inhales that the mouth holds closed for several long seconds before releasing cracky smoke into the air. Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm smoking the crack pipe.

Dream 1: I'm with my mother, on a plane, on our way to a foreign land. Probably somewhere Asian. We land on somewhere Asianesque. There is frolicking. Then there are terrorists, and we are running from them. We don't run fast enough so they catch up to us, bind our hands and feet, and move us to an area under a major highway. Mother watches one of them masked men push me to my knees. My eyes stare at the ground. He puts a gun to my head and pulls the trigger. Instead of waking up, I stay dream-dead and rise up from my body as a ghost, observing the scene below as my mother screams and screams. ...the fuck brought THAT on?

Dream 2 (which is even worse in my opinion): I'm with Bieber-bitch, and his hand is way, way in there. I'm bouncing up and down, sorta-kinda enjoying the pumping while he stays fully clothed, which makes sense because I've never seen him naked, and I don't think I want to because the outlines of his shirts hint at a slim but nevertheless pudgy stomach pouch. Ick. Anyway, next thing I know, the dick is out and it's gi-fucking-normous, like I don't even know the fuck it's doing in my dream. He should be making a name for himself as a porn star, that's how big it was. Eventually, he comes on my stomach (SIGH), and I wipe that shit up. THEN THEN THEN his girlfriend shows up, and we try to lie only to that backfire on us surprise surprise, and she comes after me, and now we're running through a strip mall with multiple floors, but there isn't a chase song in the background which is rather disappointing because if I'm going to get pursued through a strip mall with multiple malls I want a soundtrack for it at the very least.

I remember more stuff happening, but the details have slipped my mind forever. I think it's better that way too.

God. And those are only the dreams. People, I haven't been a good, upstanding human being with morals lately. I mean even more so than usual.