today i read this truly wicked thing, on a wicked van. it said 'i certainly don't trust something that bleeds for five days straight and doesn't die'. it's about women isn't it, about menstruation? about that blood. but it's dirty blood isn't it, it's a home burnt down, a tsunami gone right through a nearly-nest. this kind of cramp is like having all your organs pushed inside your bladder, its like putting fergus in a baggie, and having to wait until he pops the seams before you can close it.
second person again... interesting.
i have a crush on an older woman.
but i also have a crush on an older man.
i tasted my own pussy/vagina the other day. sorry every one. but its true. there comes a point where you're just not squeemish any longer, you're brazen, nearly vulgar. you tell ex boyfriends about anal sex when they ask you. i should say: i tell them. i tell them about it. i'm vulgar.
but its okay. my fernlike friend said yesterday 'there's this side of anon that is just a little bit slutty, i've discovered that she's just a little bit slutty.' and i said 'you know i think everyone is if they let themselves be.' and i do think so. i think i'm slutty deep down. and i think you slutty.
so it's christmas eve and i'm about to visit peeping tom. we aren't going to get spicey i suspect but i mean, i could be wrong.