I am a terrible human being. I walk around as if I were hot shit (until I run into someone I know) even though I am cold diarrhea. I then blatantly hit on a girl who is almost eighteen (braces and all) and, for some reason, she buys it. Fearing jail and retribution from her family, I quit quit quit. But I will probably do it again tomorrow. And I know why I will do it again tomorrow…
Father Intintola. That is why. I love the whiff of sex. The smell of it. The thrill of it. But I am in no way interested in participating in it (not anymore, it seems). It is easier to toy with it and to play with it than it is to accept the huge responsibilities that come with it (the responsibilities that I made up in my own head that don’t really exist, that is [Thanks, Mom]). And if I send it out to a not-quite-eighteen girl, it’s just one more way to fulfill my end without actually having to do anything.
I sometimes want to throw my TV out the window, but I have never thought that about my penis. Huh.
No comments:
Post a Comment