/lit/ - Literature

>http://www.yourfriendshouse.com/2014/forever-a-one-night-stand/?fb_action_ids=10152388715755050&fb_action_types=og.likes
When you see me, don’t ask me my name.

Don’t buy me a drink, I can buy my own.
Don’t pretend to be my friend all night.
Wait til it’s time to go, kiss me, and tell me you’re taking me home.

When we go home, we’re going to yours.
No, I don’t want to watch TV; I know why I’m here.
Don’t make small talk.
Don’t leave the light on.
When you fuck me, don’t try foreplay.
You don’t know me, and you don’t know what I like.
I’ll spit in my hand and wet my own pussy.
Don’t tell me I’m hot, or sexy, or anything.
Just put a condom on your dick, and fuck me.
Please don’t look at my body or hold my fat hips.

When you’re done, don’t tell me you usually last longer.
Don’t ask me if I came.
Don’t hold my hand, don’t kiss me, don’t spoon me.
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful.
Don’t tell me to stay.
Roll over and go to sleep so I can leave while it’s still dark.

When I leave, please don’t look at my face.
Please don’t watch me get dressed.
Don’t call me a taxi.
Don’t offer me a jacket.
Let me walk home, breathing in the heady mix of freezing fucking cold 4am air and sex on my skin.
Don’t text and ask if I got home okay. I don’t care if I do, and neither should you.

When I’m gone, delete my number.
Don’t add me on Facebook.
Don’t show your friends the marks I left on your back.

When you see me out next weekend, don’t act like you know me.
Don’t smile at me.
Don’t walk over and say hi.
Don’t do anything just to be polite.

Because I’ll fall in love.

The alarm did it's usual thing. He had been up for 30 minutes prior, planning exactly how he was going to approach things. He silenced the machine and continued his previous activity of staring blankly at the darkened ceiling, pulling the thick layer of sheets up to his chin. His partner Maree had spent the night at hers for fear of been abruptly woken and he outstretched an arm across the vacant spot that she usually held. Earlier in the week they discussed leaving the house at an offensively early hour of the morning, for the forty-eight hour Christmas shopping blitz that was held by the local Westfield. Maree in the gentle but firm way that so characterized her interactions with people quickly admonished the idea

“Phil, I’ll go Christmas shopping with you, but at a reasonable hour. Do the kids even want to go?”

The kids did not want to go, but that didn’t matter. The kids would come for the ride. Phil reasoned that the bold notion of venturing out in the first hour of the day would synthesize nicely with the thought of shopping for their gifts. There would be a banal excitement to the whole exercise that he hoped would spur the kids into having a good time

He sat up slowly and walked to the door, letting his body adjust to being vertical before leaving the flowery, cotton-bud smell of sleep that hung in the room. Even though they were in the midst of summer there was crispness to the air and Phil hurried back in to retrieve his slippers from the walk-in wardrobe that flanked the left side of his bed. Walking down the hallway past the closed doors of his three kids he stopped at the last door on the left and put his ear to it, listening for any hint of activity from the twenty-year-old male who lay dormant inside. Only the soft whir of the fan indicated activity and he decided the let them sleep while he prepared coffee.

>>3692766
You're conflation of a general hatred of people with misogyny has betrayed your own.

Seriously though, I can totally relate OP. There was this time where I thought being misanthropic was part of the processes behind being a mature, take-me-seriously adult. Now, I fucking hate what it's done to me.

>>3026289
>implying he's not one of the greatest modern writers