Parasites

I have this innate need to use people. I use you. You use me. We're parasites.

So, I show up like always. I don't know why I do. Wheres the excitement?

You're really fake. I like that. I'm really fake. I like that too.

We held hands. That was fake. We cuddled. That was fake.

I love your penis, and that is not fake. We wasted time and then got to business. It was cold, but the steam from our bodies masked any frigid movement. It was fluid and my breath was heavy. This is why I show up. I dont want to make small talk. I dont want to watch t.v. I don't want to act like this is anything other than what it is. This is a thing. It's not a love thing, but just a thing. When people ask I say I've got this thing. This thing is real unlike what trying to love someone would be like.

I don't like you much anymore. Really, I just like the sex.

Lazily we begin to collide. I go down on you, which is in some way one of the hottest things we do. But, you're like most boys who think it's necessary to push on my head. Give me a minute and I'll get to that. We both deserve some pleasure out of this and I think physically TRYING TO MAKE ME GAG for the sake of getting yourself off is a bit more than selfish. You tease me and kiss my stomach. You resist the 'temptation' of going down on me. I dont know what you're scared of. There is no monster living inside and its not like I've got a birdsnest on top either. But, you proceed to pleasure me in other ways.

You make some obscure statements. You tend to envision yourself in a porn. I guess that's normal.

I pace myself like any other girl. I like to finish with you. You always warn me, but i'm never really ready.

Then, we walk down the street like i'm carrying a baby. Together we fucking walk down the street as if we fucking have a child. How fucking ironic and fucking disgusting is that.