v u l v a l i c i o u s
This past weekend, I could have been involved in bacchanalia. Lesbian makeout parties. An orgy. Utterly unleashed sex-a-go-go.
Instead, I was dancing, drinking (a little), writing, and being on my own.
And regardless of the fun I could have had, I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that I am glad I stayed home.
Most of my sexual experiences have been of the wild and unleashed varieties. Though it is strange and somewhat silly, an orgy feels very been there, done that to me. And I know that's a strange occurance; know that most people see group loving as the jimmies on their vanilla bean.
Call me opposite.
In conversation with one of the friends who orgied, I compared the experience to food, as I am apt to do.
"Orgies," I explained, "are like the spice for your main course." I feel as though I have consumed a handful of spices with but a bite of rice. I need sustainence, need something to wed my spices to, a main course of sorts.
It's hard to admit that I want a relationship. A steady diet of one person, the feeling of remembering, not vaguely, what someone feels like. One person.
I told my friend that I would prefer not to take part in group activities until I had eaten some dinner first.
We shall see how it goes.
If sex is food, the cunt is the best dessert ever. Forever. Yaymen.