Friday, July 18, 2014

Sex is my trap

It is the truth. I have tried what I would like to call my own 'sex-hab' which is some kind of rehab for sex addicts, like me. Before we continue, let me explain a little bit more about my addiction: mine consists of adoring the way sex makes me feel, and the more I know myself, it is even more intense. I feel free. I reach the highest altitudes of mind: so much, I need to meditate afterwards to come down. It can also take me hours to 'recover'. And my favorite part, it makes me worship every inch of my body as I would do, with yours. I am addict to watch and why not since we are at the accepting part of it, I am a total slave of my senses.

Just now writing these lines -I think- this doesn't sound bad.

What is bad is, because of these myriad of sensations that transform me into a heavenly creature and a beast -making me love and get deeper into every stage of it- is the fact that I get trapped in those, so what happens is that I make of myself my own object of 'feeling' and I do the same with you, which greatly limits any capacity to see anything else beyond that. So when I lose you, I lose me.

And I hate to fucking lose.

...Then the cycle starts and ends, once again.

My addiction is my perdition and I KNOW IT. It is because of that reasoning (and also because I feel like shit) that I have decided to surrender to these thoughts on an honest attempt to come out of this cyclic and sweet trap with a lovingly open heart,  because I also know how he is vast in love and immense, the second component to this sex-hab: is accepting the power that my physical self has over me with my head as the commander.

And the third part is: I am writing these lines because is the only way I know, to let me out of this.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Husband!

I recently joined Tinder to see what the 'excessive excitement' was about. These are the words that come to mind after my 3 week stint: Douche Bags and Interstate Love. I would react with a resounding NO to the first and I would definitely  consider the other but, my dudes: Help. Yourselves.

Now let's take a look at your profile.  Are you guilty of any of the following? Right below you will see exactly how my brain reacts to it.

Do you appear with an earpiece? 
My Brain:
Miami Vice. Or Secret Service (yumm...but no) perhaps if you were in fact Secret Service you wouldn't be on Tinder to begin with. Hiccup. Sorry, my bad. I just remembered the discreet affair with the screaming 'lady' in Cartagena.

Are you holding a fish?
My Brain: Huh?


Do you exclusively have pictures with Asian chicks?
My brain: Mmm. Swipe.

Do you appear on pictures with friends that are hotter than you?
My Brain: (I think)
The risk of me wanting to meet you, so I can meet them, is 98%

Do you only have your height as the best line you could come up with on your profile? 
Do me a favor, at least show a bit of an effort and you may get laid. (two lines or less will do for me, I swear.)

Do you have more than one image when you are drunk beyond recognition? 
My Brain:
Dude, spring break 1989 revival... every weekend?

In your gallery your 'pecs' look bigger than mine?
My Brain:
Pleeeease. We haven't met and you made me feel bad already? Sad Face.



Is your name Knut?
My brain:
I would have  sued my parents and then I would have lied. All my life. Everywhere. What the hell.

Do you have an altered picture using any of those photo editors, where you appear with two heads and thought: 'Shit, this is so awesome!'
My Brain:
Is not. And where the fuck were your friends?. Swipe.

You have a photo of 'A' bicep, blurry as hell, no filters could have ever saved it... and that's it?
My Brain:
HUSBAND!