Skip to main content

... hunger...


I think it took a bit. There have been many times when I thought I needed extra help. Well, you know, hand - spiritual inspiration. Are not we all looking for something? I think today that calls Bridget Jones's syndrome - no, not to get drunk or kilograms to count. But for the purpose of finding the missing part in our lives. The feeling as you are on the boat in the sea.
 
I am like a ship looking for any purpose on the coast. Hoping that the next coast would be THE ONLY ONE! I call it Disney's syndrome. Foolish tales from young age searching for - "happily ever after" with included a specific menu to your daily list. My garcon du jour!
 
Todays shaved head, a tattooed, impossibly muscular guy, I found him lying around the corner of a nightclub, looking for a young baby. He was perfect for my hunger. After a few irreducible glances on his side (okay, okay, maybe I spend half a night by rubbing the hole in the wall and gazing at him) (I have to attract someone's attention), I was thinking that I'm doing things old-fashioned. 
I waited for him to go to the toilet - and carefully stood up next to his free urinal, I looked at him, my gaze was caught. "You're fast," he said with a low voice. "I live nearby," he said, which meant there was no need for any introductions and rituals, you get me! 
After walking to his place, who seemed to have eternity, understood - in the cold night, the air and the mutual desire to use each other as soon as possible and empty the luggage ... 
It was just a matter of 30 seconds to throw off all the clothes. My hunger was already fading away when he broke me on the floor with a brutal throw on the knees and pressing my head on the bed. That was exactly what I wanted. This hunger wanted to be satisfied. I have not hunted anymore - I was a prey - I was the one who slaughtered. I scrambled there to feel him, to feel his power. Use me.
I needed to feel the pain, it was part of hunger - the desire to be scared, to be shattered deeper. It takes the hunger away...
I don’t remember when I left him. I remember the sense of satisfaction, loneliness, pain, dirt, nausea, but with a smile - satisfied ...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Afternoon thoughts

Here's how I feel when most people turn off their eyes after five minutes of my luck theory lecture, though I can't even finish of the introductions. Every day like a big zoo around :) but it's all right, better than you think.   If others feel the same about me, it is all uber :)

Coffee in your cornflakes

Once I had a lecture by Professor Ian Robertson about forgetfulness, distraction and inattention. Why do we sometimes pour coffee in our cornflakes instead of milk? Why don't we remember how we find ourselves somewhere else? Leaving home with slippers, etc. The answer to all the questions is automation, which is the result of routine and loos of the joy of life. Despite the fact that one of the most sophisticated mechanisms in the world is installed between our ears, a normal statistical person on the way to work does not look around, he does not know how many and what buildings are around, do not look at people, can not even tell the colour of the co-workers' eyes. Most of our behavioural complexes are habits. It's like a soft which w e will gradually install ourselves. Looks like we look, but we don't see it because we don't pay attention. To sum up, we control only a small part of our actions, and we leave the rest of the controls in the brain. So we tur...

Confession of go-go boy (Part 2)

I didn't always look like that. Have you ever heard the story of the "Ugly Duckling"? Right now, you're looking at it, I didn't always look like that. I always lucked confidence, even I could win most of the time. But a lot of people could say I can, I'm good. These deep roots of mistrust have always paved the way for my dream to stand and dance. My dad chose my path for me when it came time to choose between dance school (Fagot - says - "not my son" blah blah blah) and architecture school, Until now I could not convince him so far that interior design (3 years) studies were like "pure" architecture (7 years). Even after leaving the parent's nest and twisting the nest for several months in LA, I still couldn't follow my dream - dance, because I was fighting the best guys (shit, I didn't have good body shape), I wasn't the best looking guy (I needed a little more time to strip my look), and I didn't know anyone who...