What the F*ck?

Daffniblog

Two naked bodies mush together sticky from drooling over the freedom of it all. There’s so much of him I want. His dirty mouth his absent eyes bruises left behind as a reminder of what we’ve walked away from. But when he leans over and whispers those three words our acts of freedom turn into an establishment. So I wriggle out and dump his tobacco all over the floor. I told you to fucking quit. He sits up erect and stroking and still coming back from our sexual high. I throw my five dollar dress on and gather my little green friends into a bag because they are mine and I don’t feel like sharing. You promised it wouldn’t get like this. I swipe his deodorant under each pit before I slip on my flip flops. He’s sweeping up his tobacco by hand. And I stare on shaking my head…

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Author: oldepunk

Writing about my views of the world in a stream of conscience style

One thought on “What the F*ck?”

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