Ghost

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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.

there was a question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire that asked what song was a good pace for CPR compressions. I was at the gym while watching it and found myself screaming "STAYING ALIVE". the only real reason why I knew the answer was because of that episode.. I have no shame. gliscente

p-okemonica:

literatenonsense:

exgynocraticgrrl:

Malcolm X: Our History Was Destroyed By Slavery 

on March 17, 1963 in Chicago.

see how little we get taught about history - I never had any idea why Malcolm X used the ‘X’. 

how come i never knew this damn

justtheladyinblack:

"Dear Replacement,

There are a few things I think you should know, as you are now the object of his affection.

Don’t let it surprise you, how quickly you fall for him, and don’t be apprehensive in letting yourself fall. He’ll be there to catch you. Don’t let my Facebook page intimidate you….

I have a habit of hanging onto relationships wit ppl I have a lot of history wit, but history is just that. The past. People change. Move on

coutois:

6 months in jail for being a responsible father.


wow…..

coutois:

6 months in jail for being a responsible father.

wow…..

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