That’s right, I’m just going to keep posting crappy mobile phone pics because I have nothing to say. I haven’t had much time to spend writing these past few weeks, or heck, much of anything else. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately, more than twelve hours in a day, sometimes. I get it, it’s part of the healing process or it’s the meds, or whatever. I feel lazy, though, unproductive. Worse, my dreams have gotten chaotic and lonely, violent and angry, and while I totally appreciate angry sex, I’m getting a little tired of all the mad dream sex.
I slept for a few hours this afternoon, knocked out from battling a migraine. Lucky me, I got to dream of my ex-girlfriend for the first time in years and years. I shouldn’t have been surprised that this wasn’t a romp through an adult-themed play-land, I guess. Oh, but she was cute, and I’d forgotten that. She stomped through my dreams in her Doc Martens, into my house, and locked me out. I banged on the front and back doors, yelling, begging her to let me in, but all I heard was distant laughter and all too soon, the familiar strains of my girl in climax. It was an eternal moment of despair and frustration, so like Shirley Jackson‘s The Daemon Lover, but I–I gave up and gave in, waiting for just a sight of my own demon. And unlike the short story, she came. And laughed, and brushed me aside, puzzling me with her parting words, “It just isn’t enough.”
I was in a fury, lashing at my sheets and pillows when I fully awoke. I was surprised to be so aroused and furious, so violent, needing carnal, primal release–of any sort. Angry and brutal, I rubbed my clit and plunged my fingers inside my aching cunt, desperately wanting to sap the vehemence of the storm building in my core. Anything, I pleaded with my body. Just give me something to forget. Nothing did, nothing has, but I got my orgasm, it flooded away the violence, leaving me shaken and emotionally wasted. If only it had taken the sound of her laugh with it.