I keep my air conditioner on all the time, even in the winter - the fan, on high. It makes all the pictures pinned on my walls flutter. I like the constant movement. It's like being outside.
I've been living like a hermit, a "shut-in freak," as my friends call me. I sometimes feel like…anybody, everybody, friends, family…DILUTE me.
I can't concentrate or focus myself. Chatting on the phone with them
always puts me into some lame melodramatic soap-opera scene…prattling
on, it seems like PRATTLE to me.
Yes. They say I'm rude, and I guess, I am…. But, friends can make things too…casual. Like, doing drugs - they become "recreational" when you do them with friends. The only serious way to use drugs is by yourself…or with an interesting lover. But in somebody's living room, all the clinkings, bottle against glass rim, the maddening tinkle of ice cubes in their whisky glasses…and me, I'm starting to hump away on the couch.
Cocaine makes me horny, but like, WEIRD horny. I don't want to sit there chatting and nodding, amicable, contained, I want to fling myself on the floor, legs up like a dead beetle, and get walked on by my friend in her funkiest, highest heels…I want to get my head pushed into the doggie water dish on her kitchen floor, her hands, drowning me in dog-water, her knee hard on my tailbone. On coke, I can get severely stricken by a mad rush of Masochistic Sex desire, RANK submissive slave-girl stuff, sometimes I can't even breathe thinking about it, I want to get kicked in the stomach so bad…and my friend is lighting another cigarette, giggling to me with her shoulders and talking about her bitch of a boss. I have to, you see, absolutely, go into the bathroom, and get myself off. I usually use her toothbrush.
And then I think about THAT, later: my pussy broth in her mouth
while she absently brushes her teeth, spit and rinse.
Living the Secret Sex Life, I love it, it's guerrila fetishism: raiding
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