Woke up today with my nipple on my upper arm. Skin Detached from the fascia, or whatever it was that kept my ass from shifting to my elbow. Wrinkled and pliant. The universality of flesh and hair slowly migrating over my knotted muscles and broken bones is a little sexual.
The only annoyances are the holes. Two nights ago I woke up to find my lower back over my face (yes, that means I had an ass on my head) and I nearly asphyxiated until I pulled down so my lips matched my asshole and I could breathe again. It wasn't unlike being trapped under ice, I'll say. Although it's warmer, darker, and tighter (hah, sounds like an ad I placed for... nevermind).
I usually have to gouge holes in my flesh to see, to breathe, to piss, to shit. I'm becoming a patchwork quilt though and increasingly concerned that it may all fall off (how silly would I look, then!?).
I've learned to make real small holes, though. For sight, it's like a pin hole. Some stuff, in the distance, looks upside down. It usually takes me about 3 minutes to pee with a full bladder. I don't fuck around with the shit though, I carve a wide berth for that crap. I don't want that sloshin around my system, you know? I think I tasted some just now. Or maybe it's just 'cause I'm thinking about it... I don't know. But yeah.
At first I was embarrassed when my pussy ended up on my shoulder, what with me being hirsute in that region, the smell, although not unpleasant, can be rather strong and even offensive. Several lovers have admitted to not being too keen on it at first, and then becoming addicted to it. One went as far as to tell me it "smelled like home." I told him I changed the locks, though. It's a bit akin to those situations when you watch or hear or taste something you can't stand. And for some reason you keep getting pulled back to it until you can't stop getting into it. Like the time I got addicted to Spice Girls' Spice album. I'm not ashamed to love it. I can see some of the muscle through the opening on my shoulder, here. I've decided not to sacrifice my halter top addiction just because it nauseates my co-workers to see loose skin, all punctured (and starting to get a little gangrenous -- oops!).
If I work at it for 10 minutes or so, I can maneuver the pussy lips to my left eye. I've been waiting for this moment, if only to claim that the unwinking eye of god is finally winking. Would you think me a little superficial to go through all that, puncture new holes and all, just because I found a term from the Marquis de Sade to be slightly amusing? I pretend I don't care, but I do. Too much, sometimes.
from BUG. Love is hilarious. Makes you pour gasoline on your other.
The only annoyances are the holes. Two nights ago I woke up to find my lower back over my face (yes, that means I had an ass on my head) and I nearly asphyxiated until I pulled down so my lips matched my asshole and I could breathe again. It wasn't unlike being trapped under ice, I'll say. Although it's warmer, darker, and tighter (hah, sounds like an ad I placed for... nevermind).
I usually have to gouge holes in my flesh to see, to breathe, to piss, to shit. I'm becoming a patchwork quilt though and increasingly concerned that it may all fall off (how silly would I look, then!?).
I've learned to make real small holes, though. For sight, it's like a pin hole. Some stuff, in the distance, looks upside down. It usually takes me about 3 minutes to pee with a full bladder. I don't fuck around with the shit though, I carve a wide berth for that crap. I don't want that sloshin around my system, you know? I think I tasted some just now. Or maybe it's just 'cause I'm thinking about it... I don't know. But yeah.
At first I was embarrassed when my pussy ended up on my shoulder, what with me being hirsute in that region, the smell, although not unpleasant, can be rather strong and even offensive. Several lovers have admitted to not being too keen on it at first, and then becoming addicted to it. One went as far as to tell me it "smelled like home." I told him I changed the locks, though. It's a bit akin to those situations when you watch or hear or taste something you can't stand. And for some reason you keep getting pulled back to it until you can't stop getting into it. Like the time I got addicted to Spice Girls' Spice album. I'm not ashamed to love it. I can see some of the muscle through the opening on my shoulder, here. I've decided not to sacrifice my halter top addiction just because it nauseates my co-workers to see loose skin, all punctured (and starting to get a little gangrenous -- oops!).
If I work at it for 10 minutes or so, I can maneuver the pussy lips to my left eye. I've been waiting for this moment, if only to claim that the unwinking eye of god is finally winking. Would you think me a little superficial to go through all that, puncture new holes and all, just because I found a term from the Marquis de Sade to be slightly amusing? I pretend I don't care, but I do. Too much, sometimes.
from BUG. Love is hilarious. Makes you pour gasoline on your other.
Not so much a confession as it is a random fact about me: I collect clothes from others. I love it. Underwear is my favorite to steal. Although I love stealing shirts and such that still smell like the person. That is perhaps the best. Maybe not as good as my granny panties (not taken from my granny, but from my mother. Yeah. I did it.)
oryon:
your heart is looking more awesome by the day
dragonflower:
thanks for another great read, and the photos! 