Raised on Vacancy and Lies.
If I cared enough
I will break your heart
In a weight of pleasure
There's an hour of quiet when I get home. Most of the time, this is the Masturbation Hour. Sometimes, though, I'm too tired to be messing with it.
Not today.
Today, I made a cup of coffee, checked my email, and went back to my bedroom. I normally take any clothing I have off, or at least my pants and sweatshirt, crawl into bed, and get to business. Today was a T-shirt day. I noticed something odd.
I took off my socks.
Why? Did I think the socks would get in the way? Would my feet get hot? Are socks some how sexy, attractive?
. . .
I'm so much like a man some days, I scare myself. I can manually make this mysterious thing happen just by moving two fingers in a circle. Lightly then more pressure, other hand doing other things. I wonder why I didn't figure all of this out at 15.
. . .
I've been thinking long and hard about a site meter for this. I've decided against it, it just adds too much drama, makes me too paranoid to add anything.
. . .
You may be afraid to say things because someone is watching. You may want to say things that you don't want anyone to hear. You may need to tell me something.
I want to hear it all.
I can only imagine it in a whisper, in my left ear, except I want your hand over my mouth, and I want you to keep talking.
Could two people be more cruel to each other?
Go listen to Vertical Desert.