v u l v a l i c i o u s
I was going to write erotica, but it became irrelevant
I had the urge to write stories of sex and lust and things that haven't happened to me in a while, and then I read the latest from erato and it all seemed futile.
Instead I say this: Being away from her makes me a little antsy. I wrote her a letter on napkins from the coffee shop, telling her that I wanted the weather to be good to her, that I wanted her to have a happy bitrhday, and that I missed our extended gender talking. I cannot promise that I will send it. I do not think that she is thinking of me.
I'm hungry for something physical, and feel almost constantly dissatisfied. When opportunities arise, it would appear that I run away--I worry sometimes that the worst person I've ever known was right when he said I might be afraid of success, and that it translates itself into never getting close. I wonder if it's bad to keep my physical and emotional distance, or if it only leads to trouble.
I remember the things I've been meaning to do, and I chide myself for not doing them. I feel ridiculous in all the bad ways.
The least ridiculous and the most wonderful still gets to be my cunt, and the way that it feels on the first few days of blood, full and hungry all at once. Or the way that it feels when all is said and done: ready, angry, excited, taut.