Monday, 30 May 2011


Sex is an escape from anger and boredom and I don't have a problem with that. Restless. I'm not hungry. Only sex will take my mind off my mood. While envious of my shrinking waistline, Virgil is utterly unhelpful, and I do have a problem with that.

Virgil: "You're not sexy when you're angry."

Harlot: "Well that would be easy to fix. Just give me some sex and I'll be so much happier and nicer."

Virgil: "I don't see myself as a provider of sex."

Harlot (lying): "And I don't see myself as a taker of it."

"Good," he says, and nothing happens.

I drift around the flat trying not to think bad thoughts that will upset me As soon as I start to have them I block them out.

Then I go back to bed, watch internet porn and a Tumbler someone put up of themselves being spanked with a paddle. I have four orgasms and feel unsatisfied. Vibrator-induced orgasms don't count. They're not as good as orgasms caused by fingers, mouths and cocks. Masturbation does not count when what you want is a shared experience. My pussy aches and I might go back for some more but what I really want is sex, and a good spanking and to be fucked, and then some more sex please. I want to fuck and be fucked all day until I'm sore and it's time to go to sleep and we drift off while we're still touching and holding each other.

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