He’s here. I feel him. His body is touching mine and it’s very real. We’re holding each other; it’s just all too…perfect?

See, I can talk to the pretty man like a real grown up if I try hard enough.

Pretending to care what men think is an art. It takes moments to learn, but lifetimes to master. I’d like to believe I’m an expert.

The things this man does to me are beyond what I feel should be possible. Butterflies. Fucking butterflies. Damn him.

sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love

I have never been loved enough to gain the desire of reproducing a being in the image of my lover and I have never been given enough pleasure so that my brain has not had the leisure to seek better...I have wanted the impossible...