Purple: 10 facts about my room. Blue: 9 facts about my family. Green: 8 facts about my body Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood Orange: 6 facts about my home town. Red: 5 facts about my bestfriend(s). Pink: 4 facts about my parents. White: 3 facts about my personality. Grey: 2 facts about my favourite things Black: 1 fact about the person I like.
• hand holding (in public as well would be nice) • long hugs • butt touches • kissing (lots of that) • phone calls and texting • butt touches (I mentioned that but it’s important) • long and stupid rambles • sharing feelings (oh gosh what am I?) • snuggles and spooning • watch horror films together • to feel wanted, loved and appreciated
hey everyone, if you’re reading this, try and remember the last time you ate something!
if it was a long time ago, if you feel hungry, or if you’ve missed any meals today, pls try and get something yummy to eat!
nutrition is really important to keep you safe + well!! i love you!
Rubeus Remus Potter. You were named after the only two people at Hogwarts who seemed to give shit about me, because come on who else would I name you after? A verbally abusive dickbag who was in love with my mum and gave me shit all my life and someone who convinced a bunch of children that they needed to be soldiers? What kind of awful aspirations would that make you end up having? Come on son I’m not an idiot…
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 cock, 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. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. 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 slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips 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. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.