Out Partying
Nick and I went out and got shit faced over the weekend. I am still recovering. Nick is the devil with that pipe. He knows my piggy way, which then, of course, gives a green light to his piggy ways. Of course, that is why he says he likes me. We have the same piggy ways.
"You're the only person I know who never says no."
Then it is carnage at day break.
Mick Jagger sings, I Think I’m going Mad.
Well, once I get going. Once you are doing it, you have no choice but to be piggy. But I always have a limit. Twenty four hours and I'm done. I've never tried to fight it, I've just gone with it. I'm asleep pretty soon after a night and a day and a night as elapsed, I'm always done by then.
I was horny as hell when I got home and had a marathon porn session in my room alone. Actually, I like that bit the best. Is that selfish? I'm not sure when night finished and day started. And when day finished and night started. Me in my dark little wolrd, with anybody I like. And again, if I feel like it. No dirty thought is ever too dirty. Anything goes. The world outside ceases to exist. I am the master of my own universe and anything is possible.
I saw a lot of hotties out, but when I thought about it, I kept thinking about James. Kind of sad isn't it?
Then I didn’t care. It was nice to be home safe in my own world, doing as I pleased. Until it all explodes in a mammoth wave of self-disgust.
Anyway, what day is it? Is it Monday? It must be Monday. Monday morning.
Nick disappeared with some 'daddy' as he likes to do.
I’ve slept a bit.
Then you wake and you survey your bedroom, and you wonder how? Hands, legs, abdomen, toso covered in layers of lube.
There is an outline of lube on the sheet, like a chalk figure at a murder scene. You extricate yourself, not really willing to touch any part of your person until you have washed. You can’t find the second arm hole in you towelling dressing gown, the shaking isn’t helping. You walk with one shoulder exposed, to the bathroom, your thighs are slipping against each other with some sort of collected wet substance. The warmth of the shower water is the best thing you have ever felt! Ever.
You tip toe back through the disgusting mess that covers your bed room floor. You steady yourself with your hands up against the wardrobe. You select clean clothes quickly, that feel exquisite against you skin. You can touch you phone now, your hands are clean. You can’t quite decide what your bedroom smells more of, amyl, sweat, something sour, as you close the door and take tentative steps towards the kitchen. You stomach now feels ravenous, or nauseous, you can’t decide. But the thought of coffee sounds sublime. You could eat, but you are not sure what? You hope it will help with the nauseousness. You are not at all sure if the messages are getting from your brain, as you take wobbling steps towards the rest of the house.
"You're the only person I know who never says no."
Then it is carnage at day break.
Mick Jagger sings, I Think I’m going Mad.
Well, once I get going. Once you are doing it, you have no choice but to be piggy. But I always have a limit. Twenty four hours and I'm done. I've never tried to fight it, I've just gone with it. I'm asleep pretty soon after a night and a day and a night as elapsed, I'm always done by then.
I was horny as hell when I got home and had a marathon porn session in my room alone. Actually, I like that bit the best. Is that selfish? I'm not sure when night finished and day started. And when day finished and night started. Me in my dark little wolrd, with anybody I like. And again, if I feel like it. No dirty thought is ever too dirty. Anything goes. The world outside ceases to exist. I am the master of my own universe and anything is possible.
I saw a lot of hotties out, but when I thought about it, I kept thinking about James. Kind of sad isn't it?
Then I didn’t care. It was nice to be home safe in my own world, doing as I pleased. Until it all explodes in a mammoth wave of self-disgust.
Anyway, what day is it? Is it Monday? It must be Monday. Monday morning.
Nick disappeared with some 'daddy' as he likes to do.
I’ve slept a bit.
Then you wake and you survey your bedroom, and you wonder how? Hands, legs, abdomen, toso covered in layers of lube.
There is an outline of lube on the sheet, like a chalk figure at a murder scene. You extricate yourself, not really willing to touch any part of your person until you have washed. You can’t find the second arm hole in you towelling dressing gown, the shaking isn’t helping. You walk with one shoulder exposed, to the bathroom, your thighs are slipping against each other with some sort of collected wet substance. The warmth of the shower water is the best thing you have ever felt! Ever.
You tip toe back through the disgusting mess that covers your bed room floor. You steady yourself with your hands up against the wardrobe. You select clean clothes quickly, that feel exquisite against you skin. You can touch you phone now, your hands are clean. You can’t quite decide what your bedroom smells more of, amyl, sweat, something sour, as you close the door and take tentative steps towards the kitchen. You stomach now feels ravenous, or nauseous, you can’t decide. But the thought of coffee sounds sublime. You could eat, but you are not sure what? You hope it will help with the nauseousness. You are not at all sure if the messages are getting from your brain, as you take wobbling steps towards the rest of the house.
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