It's rare that I ever experience true desire. The full-blown, feel your heart beat in your throat kind of wanting. Lust for me is an itch and sex is a way of getting it scratched.

I don't itch very often--not in the spots that can be reached, at any rate.

I like to look. I like the things that stand out about people--their hair and their scars, their cleavage and their shoes. I appreciate the effort that certain individuals put into the way they look. I find nothing wrong with anyone who spends a lot of time in front of the mirror. It's just another way of filling up the hours in between eating and sleeping.

(i wouldn't mind becoming a little more vain, as I waste a lot of time standing around, doing compulsive pocket checks and farting like a dog)

The other night I found myself in a crowded club, cigarette between my lips as I scanned the room for buisness ops. Meanwhile, I let men buy me drinks and talk into my ear. One of them put his large, hairy hand over mine and asked what a sweet american girl like me was doing out all alone in big bad london town.

I moved my hand and took a sip of my drink. I told him truth be told I was shopping in a pet store, hoping against hope to find a certain rare breed of animal in one of the cages.


stereolabrat

via

new fire resistant treacher

(I'll have to remember to change his link on the prop list. Not tonight, though. I don't fuck with the template when I'm PMSing.)