/lit/ - Literature

Most of the time I have sex and am not threatened, demeaned, or physically hurt by my partner/s, my brain is scattered. When I have sex like this, when they suck my dick as I try to bear with the discomfort and think of how I should be reacting, when they fuck me without hurting me and we are just two ugly and soulless bodies humping and I am not set free. They don't understand and we are unconnected nothings, it hurts in the bad way. Something less than human inside of me is baiting some poor sucker into thinking that we are sharing a beautiful moment together, or maybe worse, we can clearly see in each other's eyes that we aren’t connecting, that it isn't very nice at all, but we still carry on with the performance. They fuck me while my mind is elsewhere. Hopefully they’re hitting it from behind, my cock is definitely limp, it probably hurts, but not in the right way.. Then I sit up on the ceiling looking down at the body of whatever I am tangled up with the body of whatever they are from above.

This feels like a great sin. Remember, current me is very fixated on the vague idea of some kind of complete understanding as the ultimate desire! How could I be so heartless as to fool a woman into thinking she's achieved that with me? How could sex so mid be anything but a sick sad mockery of that understanding. Why am I so convinced pain is the thing that's missing?

Because when they grab my roommate’s knife off the wall to pace around the tiny living room telling me how exactly they’ll put me down my heart screams. When they hold my hand over the hot stove for as long as I can take it, when they put out cigarettes on my tongue, I’m in love. When they call me stupid my body practically screams for them to fuck me. When they makes fun of the sickly, flat chest I have from a lifetime eating disorder, it upsets me for weeks and I begin regularly, sincerely thanking them for owning me. I guess it's never really a they, it's always a she. It’s probably impossible for me to fall in love with a woman who can’t bully me. Maybe sex is one of the only ways I’ve ever felt understood. When the stars align, a hot girl calls me a stupid dog and fucks me until I feel drunk, we slip into a deep, instinctual connection where we can give and receive exactly what we want without great effort. In accomplishing this, we are seeing each other (in only one facet of our whole selves,, duh!!!) we are understanding each other exactly as we are. For me, this just doesn’t seem to happen unless a girl can hurt me. Thanks, pain! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ‧+