v u l v a l i c i o u s
There are times that I feel so lonely; times that something opens up and spills out
There's something wrong with an empty picture, table for one, dance by yourself and pretend you like the way it feels night, sometimes. It's one of those times right now.
I watched them on the dance floor grinding and then kissing, one to the next to the next, and pretended I wasn't jealous, that I didn't want to put myself into that sort of triangle, making substitutions where necessary. Triangles are heavenly to watch, I've found, but so much better to partake in when they are purely physical.
And there was a grrl there that I thought I could have, with left and right quick burning signals being sent to me, and her whispering in my ear, "but you're going to sleep over before you leave, right?" into my ear. Yes, then yes again, reaching my hand to the front of her pants and winking as I touched her dick. Hot. Good fucking.
Fucking lonely, though, and I go home alone and curse her for being drunk and empty. I realize I won't have the time to go to her place this week, and may not see her again before I go, and I hate myself for not saying "Tonight. I sleep over tonight."
I hold on to my friend and tell her what I've been wanting to say for a long time: I am so lonely.
There's nothing to do for that but a hug and a good night. There are empty years of alone that spill out before me and remind me of what has passed me by. Sweet and salty, bitter, angsty loneliness that eats at me until I am exposed.
My cunt feels dry and abandoned, parched desert flower. Naked in all the wrong ways.