Lately, the question of whether one would keep a sex diary has come up again and again in my circle of friends. Complex topic, because for me, there is a sex drought. But it can be said: some keep their raunchy memories in inconspicuous notebooks, others have a neatly curated picture gallery in their smartphone.
Ein Beitrag geteilt von Shannon Cartier Lucy zollieoo. My muscles are tight; I keep darting in front of the mirror, checking to see if my skin looks nice. My hair has enough volume to get tousled later in the heat of the moment. The clock seems to stand still.
In contrast, desire races in my head. I just want us to be close. For the few hours, we have left. He smells so good. It always goes the same: we fool around, then heated conversations about everyday things, and then β suddenly, his hands are everywhere. As he presses me against the wall of the small kitchen, tears come to my eyes. That was last summer. I get dizzy sometimes now, too.
Dizziness seizes my body because I can imagine everything as if it were yesterday when I read my notes. Ein von purienne geteilter Beitrag. A little tour on the motorcycle, that was all I could promise. On the back seat, you slide close to the driver because he is so crooked. His skin is all heated up from the sun; his perfume mixes with deodorant and sweat. But I feel pretty cool. I think he works out a lot. I am happy. In the arms of a man who is so terribly proud and whose name I will have forgotten in a few months.
Being a teen is okay. When I read the lines I wrote today I skipped the more personal ones. Reading this passage, I was overcome by an irrepressible desire for sex, for touch. The mere fantasy that only reading can trigger is enough to make me remember that my body starves for new memories like these. Maybe my sex life is fallow; it is in a kind of drought phase. So I have resolved to struggle through this desert of writing down past encounters.
