I reblogged this a week ago, my wish came true 2 days ago, hopefully my wish will come true this timereblog and make a wish
this is my second time reblogging and my first wish came true so
i have to
why not
i did this a few days ago and it also came true, i was freaked out like fuck
hmmmmmmmmmmmm
here goes nothing
fingers crossed this mother fucker works…
| — | Sylvia Plath (via moonbrains) |
| — | Ray Bradbury (via shotgun-shy) |
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.
It’s originality.
It’s passion.
It’s joy.
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.
| — | (via it-slowly-rises) |
| — | Pablo Neruda (via lezziemcguire) |
Rain Journal: London: June 65
by Lee Harwoodsitting naked together
on the edge of the bed
drinking vodka
this my first real love scene
your body so good
your eyes sad love stars
but John
now when we’re miles apart
the come-down from mountain visions
and the…
That summer I did not go crazy
but I wore
very close
very close
to the bone.
| — | Dorothy Allison, “To the Bone“ (via vanswearingen) |
| — | Charles Bukowski (via writingthatilike) |
