we are all a little touched,up here and down there

neusdadt:

“You know what I hate, man, it’s when the fuck ruins everything. I mean, it does, and all the process of satisfying a carnal need does, in a way. Like when I need to eat, and how the smell of food — no matter even if it’s the deep fried shit of a cockroach — is fucking orgasmic. And when you’re done eating, things disappoint you; if it’s as palatable as a rock, or when you’re too disgustingly full. Let me tell you man, the fuck ruins everything the same way. There’s a thrill to look at sexy people when you’re walking around anywhere, really. I get so turned on when they’re walking with their heads down, and suddenly, they look up and peak from behind the curtain of their hair, and our eyes meet. I tell you man, it’s a cosmological big bang of a jizz. And when you get to know them, when they talk about their favorite movies or books or bands, and you know and like those stuff too, it’s like you wanna hug those people endlessly and say ‘thank Jesus for our brilliant and obviously superior cultural taste that will save humanity’. And you share a laugh or two, with a beer or so, and you know there’s just this legitimate bond between the two of you, and I think this is where you can start to draw the line between friends and acquaintances. And I mean, the kiss doesn’t even ruin it, man. The kiss is like, I don’t know man, just that moment of a natural high. The moment of spontaneity where you do the craziest things, just right before you’re hammered and passed out. The kiss is fucking great. But when the glasses aren’t put down, and when the carnal, animalistic need takes over, well, it’s all good when you’re still in the moment. I mean, who can deny the colossal, torrential pleasure of a fuck? Not even me, man. But the aftermath of a fuck is the worst hangover known to universe. It’s like, when it’s come and gone, I feel so, I don’t know, so fucking…I don’t know. Like I want to be alone, like I’ve given more of myself for my own liking. Like I wanna take everything I’ve put out back. Like I wanna curl up and scream endlessly. Like I want to just smoke and drink a beer in silence and shut the world the fuck up, you know? And I hate it because it ruins the beautiful, wonderful people for me. It sounds fucking cheesy when they say ‘the mystery’s gone’ but it’s true. When you talk to them again, you don’t see what their favorite movies or books or bands are anymore, or how great they actually were. It’s like talking to a piece of meat. You know how bad, or sometimes good, they are in bed or what their dirty kinks are, and you’ve seen all that there is to them. Like they’re raw and unappetizing anymore. Or they’re like what’s left after eating a fucking delicious steak — shit. And I hate it, too, when you see them around and it’s as if nothing happened. Like I wanna scream at their faces ‘Yeah right, bitch. Don’t pretend I didn’t see you naked.’”