Sex…Then Suicide

Do you want to know how fucked in the head I am?

I just had the most amazing sex of my life.

How amazing?

The type of sex that would make the devil and god mutually masturbate to…That amazing.

My new lover is a freak–even by SF standards. She has four and a half hard no’s, while I have a solid five, so I’m the prude of the relationship.

Her lip’s bleeding, and she’s walking with a limp; my frenulum is sprained, and my back looks like a Vietnamese Catwoman gave me a massage.

I have to go to the hardware store tomorrow to buy spackle and paint because the back of her head put a dent in two of the walls in her apartment—serves her right for saying I couldn’t be too rough.

Shit, she’s knocking on the door the door to see if I’m alright—I can only pretend like I’m taking a shit for so long.

Alright…so me being fucked in the head.

Her apartment is on the eleventh floor of a tenement surrounded by homeless people using shopping carts for barbeques, and gutterpunks shooting up. I think she said it’s two grand a month for her one bedroom “box”. Fucking crazy. SF, man—it’s nuts out here. “At least you have a living moat of homeless drug addicts to keep the hipsters at bay,” I told her. She laughed.

Fuck, she’s knocking again. “One moment, the chile rellenos fucked my stomach up,” I said. She laughed.

Fuck, where was I..Um…um..rambling…rambling…….OH, so she’s a freak. She likes pain and pleasure and hate and love and cuddling and scratching and biting and fear; she likes a lot of things most girls would consider nightmarish. She knows that I like to write; that I have an overactive imagination; that I’m a doll-hair away from being as freaky as she is, so she always asks me to create new dark scenes for us to reenact. I said that I’d break into a cemetery with her, find a grave of a person with an interesting name–maybe Malachi–and fuck her on top of it while she screamed their name.

How ugly.

She thinks it’s pretty, though.

“For real, B?” she just said.

Fuck, I need to backpedal to finish: me being fucked in the head.

After covering every square-micron of her room in our sex sweat, she pointed towards her open window, grabbed my dick like it was the handle of a little red wagon and pulled me across the room. “Fuck, it’s cold outside,” she said as her nipples rested on the windowsill of her eleventh story apartment.

“Fuck me, B,” she said then…and just said now through the door of her bathroom.

She said faster, so I did; she said harder, so I did—her moans blanketed the streets of SF in a coat of ethereal pleasure.

“Come inside me, B!” she screamed.

As I was about to cum, I looked out of the window, down at the sea of unfortunate souls living in this sad paradise, and Imagined jumping out of the window. I imagined my lover reaching out to me as my nude body falls to heaven. I imagine cumming at the exact moment I splat against the cold concrete of the city I used to love.

That’s how fucked in the head I am.

 

 

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