i have no idea what a sexy word for vagina is
like, people use words like ‘maw’ and ‘gape’ etc. and that’s not sexy
vagina is too clinical
i hate the word ‘cunt’
and so i don’t think i will ever getting around to writing porn where one patron has a vagina because come on i can use ‘cock’ and no one cares but WHAT DO YOU USE WHEN THE PERSON HAS A VAGINA
WHAT
DO
YOU
USE
i wrote this once for a role-play that unfortunately didn’t go anywhere (my fault entirely) but i still really like it
sometimes i write fandom stuff
maybe i’ll just make a legit fan fiction out of it. who knows
Yosuke didn’t watch as much television as he used to. It might have been because of his job, which kept him busier than he would have liked, or because he felt like there was no need to.
sometimes i look back at my dozens of half-finished attempts at porn and laugh
this is the very first chapter of my nano story that is no longer a nano story because i only got like two chapters done on it. i’ll try to finish it eventually though. i figured i may as well post this somewhere…
putting it under a cut because it involves violence and other disturbing imagery and idk what’s wrong with me either
“Maybe? Maybe it is. Maybe I just – “ I slump back onto the couch and put my head in my hands. I’m quiet for a few moments, and Robyn, god bless her, she doesn’t say a thing. “After we broke up, I started thinking a lot. I thought about how much he fucked up my life – how much he fucked me up. I was real fucked up, Robyn. And I thought – maybe if I was just a little more … maybe if I just had a little more control, everything would be OK. But I didn’t know how to … it just went out of control. In my trying to get control, I lost it …”
I feel really dissociative right now, like it’s not me who’s talking. Maybe it’s the spirit of my grandfather in my body, telling all of my naughty secrets. Maybe he’s about to tell Robyn about the first time I tried to have sex, and how he couldn’t actually get it in.
Nothing else comes, though. We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and then Robyn hugs me again, tightly, like she’s afraid if she lets go, I might disappear.
“Adrien, baby, we need to get you some help,” she says to my shirt. I grunt noncommittally. “No, really, I mean it. You need help – you can’t fight this on your own.”
I tell her that maybe I’ll think about it, when we secure our revenue. Maybe I’ll go back to that nice facility I went to in our senior year – you know, the one with the pool, and all of the big ferns? I’ll try and get better, because I don’t like having this sickness take over my life. I’m really tired of being sick.
What I don’t tell her is that I’ve already fought this sickness, and that it’s already won.
