pirra

i remember a boy as he struggled to get out of my bed and into his pants, his naked, furry body open and vulnerable, a snail trying to re-enter his shell that seemed so small a few minutes earlier. his country ways that clashed like teeth on a metal fork with his ingratiating slimy, mannerisms. This tall, lanky boy with beautiful lips that had dirty patches of hair sprouting out around it that had the audacity to say hot and bothered .

a boy, this girl, that girl, a different boy, they were all the same.
people- easily obtainable if one knows how, even easier to discard (don't worry, this to is in the instructions manual), like so many Happy Meal toys with a single function that becomes pointless as soon as you figure it out.

after smoking salvia, i went down to my room after returning the bong, and laid down in my bed, turned off the light, and stared at the ceiling wanting to fuck
thrust, arch, a few seconds of numb.
i considered calling a few people. . . but dreaded everything that would have to come after.
mostly, i disliked having to see them in the morning, having to share my bed, having to try to be accomodating to this fucking asshole who thought he just got to fuck someone.
i hated the idea that someone would think i let them get one up on me, when what i had wanted was a simple as a needle to the arm.