Warning: Obscene stuffing
Mushy! Mushy! Dammit. I just can’t get this fuck outta my mind. This fuck gives me a smile whenever the fuck beeps my remote communication.
And it’s me, the pathetic dreamer who dreams of that fuck falling in love with me, completing my incompleteness, filling my unfilled perfections, and heating up my coldness, my dormancy, and my virginity for the past year. Yeah, it’s impossible. I’m a jerk by thinking these thoughts.
The hell, the move is moving slowly, the beat is beating thinly, but the lust is lustier than ever. Thinking about the possibilities and the impulsivity of presumptuous things direct me to a load of expectations. When is that fuck going to like me? Not my completely rotten personality, that’s impossible to happen, but at least just with the thought of liking to get laid with me. When is when? How soon is soon? How will fantasy meet with reality? As the pain of longing sets in, the pleasure gets in more intensely. And the more I think of all the possibilities, the more it’s becoming a voodoo in my thought. But I damn take a pleasure from it, to inflict pain in my own sense. The bliss of the flesh, making my life unusually aerated from unknown apprehension. The cunning flesh that is completely different from the fantasy of making love, making complications in life. Think of a chemist who mixes different chemicals, a dose of water and bicarbonate to yield to a computed composition of certain acids. Or go to your kitchen and prepare a meal, lets say beef stew. It takes a minute to pig it out but damn lengthy time of mixing the ingredients, tasting and serving. But try the instant stew; it takes minutes to prepare it but then same fullness and heat on your tummy. That’s how spontaneous flesh bliss is, no need for loyalty, untiring understanding, boundary, honesty, and other mushy things. It’s instant, spontaneous…No strap on your neck…No dog tag…No commitment.
That’s why sometimes I just wanna ask the fuck to get dirty with me, but the fuck I wouldn’t do that…because I am fuck.