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Sex Brass.

By Tm Bmb.

I've gotten three girls pregnant four times.
These things, you can accept. I like watching people get used to things.
I like watching myself adapt to inarguable truths.

Bwtchr had a bedframe. I've had so much sex on floors and broken mattresses; I freak out on a nice bed. I'll go to town on it like a town tackling some nonsense. The frame was black metal. There's precious few things more satisfying than grabbing hold of a frame or headboard during the thing.
She had her own room in the crack house we lived at. The Parliament Brothel.
This blog goes back to 2005. There are years where I only posted a couple things a month. I don't know what I've said. I mentioned more than once that this is the lamest part of stream of consciousness, to cover my tracks. I have a lot of stories, but if I repeat myself, you'll see the cracks.
As if this thing isn't all cracks.
This fucking guy.

So, she had her own room in the crack house we lived in for a year. When we fought - and we had evil, sick, dark fights - we could be seperated. But you know as well as I do that it wouldn't help.
It was the sex that frusterated me the most. She never wanted to go all night. She never wanted to make a big deal of it.
Maybe a million people need to tell me to shut up.
But you know as well as I do that it wouldn't help.

Maybe I shouldn't complain. When you're young - so young - your goals are so managable. All you want is that one girlfriend, or that one experience. Something that will signal that you're headed in the right direction. Steps like stones along a narrow stream. Everything's so clear up until you breach something and end up in a lake. Surrounded by the world, every angle holding successes of equal merit. You did that one thing - that first time - and now you just need to keep doing it. Some people don't need to. Some people like relationships. I like those people.
But I need sex. And if you can't keep up, then I will resent you very quickly. It took me just a little bit to figure that out, but everything's alright now.

Cadence had the lust in her just like I did. We broke out the toolbox and got to it. Rode the lines of pain and explore how long 2 bodies could angrily hate being alone.
That lust was symptomatic of worse madness. It's usually the case.
I've got a worse madness in me somewhere.
The one before her too. Same story. What stupid nickname did I give her? Something to do with her red hair. But maybe I wasn't that clever. 2 girlfriends in a short burst, both of them coworkers from the sex store I worked at. Both of them liked to get it like criminals.
Stories to tell at the wedding.

She ransomed a book of mine. Tried to use it as leverage. To this day I don't know what she wanted from me. The book cost me $100 and it was about mythology. I told her she could keep it.
And when we saw each other again, it didn't take much for us to fuck. Because it's all madness and blackness and wrongskulled senselessness.
Just 2 bodies expressing their fury regarding being alone.
Hair like the nile, whatever that means.

Some people want to have a big penis, but it's more trouble than it's worth. It can make the other party bleed. It can cause a shriek in that decibal that has you triggering the hazard lights. It can cause problems. Sex is the last place you want to use restraint. I've had people put the kaibosh on the act for this reason. That's the last thing in the world you want. It's below death and poverty, I promise you.

It's more of a burden, though. Because I've got this cool special unique body part, and I feel like I have to use it as often as I can, otherwise it's a waste. It becomes an obsession. I fucked a girl who found the prospect of me being in porn attractive. The things that emerge when you get people talking during tenderized moments. Everybody dies, though, and these things don't truly matter. It's obligation, and it's to feed my ego. It must be fed, otherwise it turns on me and I become violent.
But what else am I here to do? What else do I have to offer the world?
What else am I good at?

If I had a mind to boast, I could be all about that. I could walk around being a genius and I could have a book written about me. That would be great. I could make something of value, instead of writing stories structured on madsanity, selling myself and practicing all manner of abuse to get the most I can from this ironic life.

You show a drunk girl a bottle of vodka and you might as well have flashed a thousand dollar bill.

Having sex on floors, for me, is like having sex in cars: I always get caught. I've had sex in a car only twice, but that's because the police always end up catching us. And then I need to talk myself out of being arrested for fucking a non-hooker.
Last time I fucked on a floor I got caught. There's no cool way to go about salvaging the situation. It's like being caught up in a dice game: you'd rather be caught gambling properly.

So many girls like being hit in bed. To connect this to where I was going earlier. Getting it like criminals.
They'll never mention it unless you get them talking, and you absolutely must get them talking, otherwise you're not doing it right.
Hit, choked, cursed at. Everyone's a monster during the right sex. Good sex will make you horrible. It'll make you a stereotype. You'll leave with marks on your body, you'll smell like something new, and you won't be able to function properly.
I go out into the world fully intent on wrecking the hell out of vaginas. Some people treat sex like gassing up a car. Every sex should be like a 9/11. You've got something to prove and you're trying to impress god.
I have a drawer filled with handcuffs and nipple clamps and condoms and a ball gag. There's also a stethoscope.
Because you never know.

This is the text exchange that occured as I was writing about my terrorist sex:
Anonymous Number: Hey sexy.
Me: Who is this?
Anonymous Number: We fucked once.
Me: You're going to have to be more specific.

I'm being haunted by fuck ghosts. I am a fuck ghost pimp.
Don't you never forget that.

I don't know why I started this post. I must have had something to say.

SK