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“I might as well fuck that” kind of rape where she just happens to lay there unconscious and everybody else has left but nobody cared to take her home so she’s your problem now. You don’t particularly care for it, kinda feels too easy, not even sure if you’re into it. There was no chase, no fight, no competition. Not a target you catched, you didn’t convince her to stay or put her in that state yourself. Kinda makes you feel like you’ve lost your touch. But you know, might as well. Even if it feels like fucking a roadkill. At least nobody feels bad about someone dealing with the roadkill. Might as well.

i hate how repulsive my body feels. why won’t anyone just fuck me like a woman? i don’t want to have to ask for you to grope me. i don’t want to feel like i have to perform some fucking role for you to see me. i don’t know how many more times i can communicate that i *need* to be touched with a hunger. i need to feel like you want me. i need to feel like you find my body beautiful. because it is. i’m a beautiful lady and i deserve to be treated as such. so fucking touch me. i’m so fucking touchable.

It’s June and I don’t even have a girl to take me on a hill behind the pine trees when it’s light out at midnight. To lay me down on the smooth rock and roll up my dress, dip in her fingers by the side of my underwear and tell me it’s okay to make noise. I’m all worried someone might walk by the nearest trail and hear us. But she tells me nobody’s out so late, only to stop every once in a while as if she’s hearing someone just to fuck with me. Her teasing me about getting so panicky and pissed at her while going deeper with her fingers and kissing my stomach. Using her tongue on me when I get close. Making me forget where we are while I unravel surrounded by the sound of the blackbirds singing and the soft wind rustling in the treetops. We’d just lay there holding each other in the nightless night, watching the sky turn pale pink in the early hours of the morning.

The best part of sex is the bit where they play with your hair and kiss your forehead and call you a princess 💕

Sorry, I know you said your parents or partners were abusive and did terrible things to you in the name of love. But I just need you to know that they did that because they thought they were feeling love, but what they were feeling for you wasn't real love, okay? And the real problem here is clearly that people don't agree with my personal idealized vision of what love is. So you need to listen to me. Real love is a good thing for everyone involved. okay? Real love is overwhelming. Real love is found in the scent of her clothing that you stole from her hamper when she wasn't in the room. Real love is when you look up someone else's username to find their old accounts when they were less good at opsec. Real love is global positioning systems and chains and zipties and drugs that dissolve in drinks. Real love sometimes feels disgusting and makes you throw up when you think about it but that's because you weren't embracing it enough. Real love is an intrusion in your mind by something that feels external that empties you out and replaces you with something better. Real love is the red dripping from scratches she left in you. Real love leaves you hollows out and crying yourself to sleep because you lost the only thing that made you feel it. Real love is scheming and planning and plotting to make things better. Okay?

Partially I have to assume the fantasy of angel wings for at least some section of that group must be to give a sufficiently erotic-symbolic explanation for back sensitivity. Sitting on your back and gently running my fingers across the different muscles and listening to how your breathing shifts until I find just the right place to caress to leave you whimpering and moaning. You know how it is.

sorry for being affectionate it’s just that there was a cool breeze and sun was kissing my skin so soft and my heart is full of flower petals

we exist for love btw