"A strange post indeed," said Father.

Is that really you? That sweet person who everyone loves. Who gets hugs in her comment box. Who writes heart-warming stories about puppies and little boys.

Hurt, misunderstood, yet brave, carrying on with her chin up. Of course YOU could never be the one to blame. How could you? You’re blemish-free. Just like the people who comment on your posts.
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Let’s drop the poet’s mask for a while. Weaving magic with words and falling in love at the drop of a hat is all very well, but you have to admit that your heart is between your legs.

Let’s not play this charade of being nice. Let’s just fuck and get it over with. You can fuck me as hard as you want. I’ll play out any fantasy. You can push me down to suck you and re-arrange my limbs and torso into any position. Because let’s admit it, it’s not about the eyes is it? Yank me by the hair, I promise I’ll swallow. Push into any orifice. Let’s be honest, it’s an animal act, right?

I’m not sure where this is going and I don’t know why I’m writing it.

Yes, I do. It’s because I miss you/like you/want you.


*Hurriedly typed in disclaimer: It’s four in the morning – self-explanatory.