Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test."
"Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home,
and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again."
Why does it seem so difficult to find someone to love and be loved by?
Don’t mind me ; I’m a ball of crazy hormones right now.
"If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing slowly…very slowly."
The hardest part about waiting is wanting
I have always been a dreamerloveheart
Waiting for my Angelprincesoulheart
But the older I get the more I wait.
The more I want.
I wait because of my past
I wait because my heart is not so easily won (anymore)
I wait because it is harder for me to trust
Harder for me to be willing to get hurt (again)
I want because I am human
I am a woman
An angel on a mission from Love
I want because it is a part of me.
I am young ; I know this too well.
I am too old for guys my age, but too young for guys slightly older.
Are my expectations and standards too high?
Or is everyone I meet too good at limbo?
I’m finally in a place in my heart that I want to love and be loved again.
I’m finally at peace with the end of a saga.
I’ve accepted that the smallest part of me will always love him because he was my first love.
But he will never rule my life or mind again.
He will never ruin my heart.
I know what I want
I know what I am waiting for
I just wish I knew where he is.
One day, I will be startled by his soul and I will smile a dream come true.