Country Girl Charm
Country through and through... Australia is where I'm from. I love beer. Supernatural is my life.
MOOSE BABY I LOVE YOU
QLD '14' <3
A 14 year-old boy was recently raped at knife-point by a 20 year-old woman. When the story broke, it was primarily men who claimed he should have enjoyed it. It was feminists who validated his pain and spoke in support of him.
This is why we need feminism."
STORY IDEA: YOUR DOOR BELL RINGS AND ITS A PERSON FROM AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE “I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE MY FAVORITE BOOK CHARACTER AND I KNOW HOW IT ENDS AND I WANNA CHANGE IT”
WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME
plot twist: the person who rings the doorbell is your favorite book character
Nothing is worse than
Being able to see you and
Not touch you.
That’s the thing about distance.
We have a million different
Forms of technology
So that I can see your face and
Hear your voice but,
I have felt the warmth of
Your skin in over two months.
It’s approximately 1600 miles
From my bed to yours
And for a girl with no spare change
It is almost impossible to
See you on a regular basis.
I thought distance was supposed
To make the heart grow fonder
But I swear my heart has
Never been this empty.
I just need to touch you.
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening clitoris, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you giggle when I suck your nipple, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet tongue on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. I’ll show you mine. Fucking scream. Let go. Let your memory swallow it. I’ll fuck you to make you feel.
This isn’t a test."