Curiosity killed the cat and promiscuity might just be the death of me…
It’s a fate that will inevitably have a tragic downfall; one stained with cum, tinged with regret, and dripping with the sweat of my intense satisfaction.
It’s a story that I knew the ending to the moment that it began… There is no hope for the cat to make it out of this world alive. There is no hope for me to make it out of this world unscathed.
No matter how in love I am, I find my eyes wandering as the magnetic pull of my libido seduces me into the bed of whomever is the next to wet my panties with the flash of their gaze.
No matter how much my body is worshipped, I always long for more. More of something; everything and nothing all at the same time. My body lives for the electric touch of that person, that stranger, that I am unwittingly but unequivocally attracted to.
I long for the intoxicating feeling of bodies pressing against mine; hot and sticky as we all roll around in a mission to expose and exploit each other's orgasmic vulnerabilities.
I long for that surge of life that only comes from the butterflies igniting as my quivering body is brought to the peak of a climax by someone else’s lips.
I’d rather die slowly in my vices and go entirely up in flames than to fall to the ground unfulfilled, untouched, and unwilling to embrace the beauty of the flesh surrounding me.
I’d rather hurt those that I’ve loved and give them the opportunity to run as far from me as they can before I draw them in further than their hearts can handle and they lose their escape from my eventual, unintentional torment.
I’m not going to stifle my sexuality and cause myself to have a lackluster sex life inside of a confining, miserable existence. Suppressing my sexuality will only lead to a catastrophically destructive display of promiscuity later on.
I’m not going to manipulate you but it’s in my nature to do so. It’s in my nature to avoid my own boredom at all cost because that is when things really become messy for all involved. I entertain myself by playing games when just sex is not quite enough anymore; games with people and their weakness, their vices and their libido.
I master in the art of making whoever I pick out of the crowd want me so badly that they think it was their idea to approach, and eventually get under, me.
Promiscuity.
It has been the downfall of every relationship that I’ve found myself in. It taunts my every feeling of love, and shoots down every butterfly set free in my stomach when that love becomes too real.
It will be my eventual demise.
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