I have been sexually active for 2.5 years. Over two of these years were spent with one man, while the past 3 months have been spent with over 40 different men and a few women. I do not really know how this all started, I can only tie this sexual behavior of mine to being heart broken and going on a sex spree to try and cure my broken heart. I got over my heart break fairly quick actually, but I stuck with the sex. I realized that having sex is fun, feels good and makes me a happier woman.
How long had Smit been here? She felt like this moment had grown its own lifetime and existed for as long as she could remember; her mind had raced a thousand races whilst her heart had beat maybe once, or was it twice? She is acutely aware of an absolute existence and intricate senses, but they aren’t her own. At least, they aren’t her current senses. In her mind she is thirteen again, in her thirteenth winter; she could smell the sodden earth and hear the close, hard rain as her small home offered all the shelter it could. She could feel the forearms against her chest, and the thin breeze of Lysander’s own breaths against her neck. She had always felt close to him, and as they wore the dense night like a blanket he would be her cradle. He had weathered more winters than she had, this was her logic: he knew what he was doing. The safety swallowed her deep into its unconcerned trunk where she intended to remain for all her long and luscious life. Smit remembers how it always ended in the morning. Smit blinks, mud is pressing into her eyes, she hasn’t taken a breath for some time.
My head lay sideways upon the desk. The stains of red paint and pencil sharpening scattered across its surface lightly brushing my cheek every time I took a breath. My eyes gazed upwards towards the girl who sat beside me. Her eyes were iridescently beautiful. The tears she had once shed were still barely visible, yet I still found it difficult to believe that anything, or anyone, could have hurt this girl enough to make her cry. I closed my eyes.