Sometimes, I feel like I’m on fire.
I love it and I hate it. I feel like my body controls me when it should be the other way around. I want to focus on myself, not on this guy or that girl. But that thought is just that, a thought. An abstract intangible fragment of my—oh my god my roommate is sooo hot!
He’s 32 so I know it won’t happen and it can’t happen, and it shouldn’t happen. He just broke up with his girlfriend of seven years. He’s depressed. He’s sad and lonely and confused. He doesn’t need a 23-year-old stripper/writer/personal assistant to complicate his emotions.
But I want to. I want to complicate our relationship. I want things to be awkward in the house, I want our other roommates to hear us fucking and groan...or maybe come join.
See! Why do I think things like that??! The fire takes over my brain and all I can do is think about my body and how good it feels when someone else is inside of it. And honestly, why shouldn’t I? Aren’t I a person? Why is it so wrong to want to be held...I’m more than just a stripper, I’m a person on her way to self-actualization. I’m a human being who longs to be with someone, I’m a woman who longs to be held...is that so bad?
Maybe I’m being selfish. Out of all the guys in the world why would I hook up with my millennial roommate with undiagnosed clinical depression? Maybe I’m trying to use pseudo philosophy to justify my selfish physical desires...I dunno man. I guess I’ll just masturbate and see if that makes the fire go away...or at least smothers it a bit.