Random Acts of Awesome

It's so much easier to feel beautiful when you're alone. I wonder about that, sometimes. Of all the beautiful sex I've had, the best has been alone. Not the best orgasms, of course. The orgasms I give myself always feel a little flat. I can't feed on my own need, my own fulfillment. I only feel content, full, after I've lost myself in a lovers fruition. But beautiful... that only seems to happen in my own eyes. When I'm alone, I see the spill of my own hair across a pillow as I turn my face to the side, and it's art. I feel my own skin, silk. I pull my breasts out of confines of my bra, and the expanse of flesh doesn't feel ample, it feels right. Their size doesn't matter to me, only what they make me feel, and every inch of surface is waiting for my fingertips and nails. My hard little nipples aren't too big or too small. They're simply perfect points of sensation. I can touch them soft or rough, it doesn't matter. I do only what I wan...

Drama. And sex. But mostly drama. As I was lying in bed last night, with a single dramatic tear rolling down my cheek, and my heart not even close to breaking, I realized something. I realized it's time to have another talk with myself. So here we go. Self, It's me, the part of you that's pretty happy. Granted, it's the part of you that relies on its regular doses of sex and touch to stay sane, but fuck you. I'm happy. Sorry. I've been feeling slightly angst-y towards you lately, apparently. You're addicted to drama. You're addicted to the sensation that life has so much more depth than you've given it. You need to have something to fight against, to bang your head against, to make you FEEL something. I'm not saying you like feeling like shit. You don't, you hate it. But you know that other bitch we both hate, the one we never talk about? She kind of likes it. She's pretty sure we all deserve it. Shit. I had all these hel...