Wednesday, December 26, 2012


It's over. The saddest Christmas I remember. In fact, it didn't even seemed like Christmas, anyway. Not that I only had lived trough happy and cheerful times on holidays, but usually this date would made some difference in my life. I remember to be happy, to be angry, to be hopeful or anguished. This year, I felt nothing but the clear impression that afterall, Christmas meant nothing to me. As I definitely meant nothing to anyone else's Christmas.

 I'm taking this risk of opening up too much here. I dunno who you readers are, I have a lot of visitors but hardly any comments, what was to expect by the time I started writing all that naughty stuff that mostly never ever happened. I'm not the gorgeous bitch full of self confidence I think that hooks up with your expectations: I'm not blessed or meant to something special: I just write my story this way, so I can forget for a while that I'm just a shy girl who feels bit misplaced in this world. I wanted to write a fairytale, but market is demanding porn. Seems legit. Why frustrate people with happy endings when we can be satisfied for the moment..?

Loneliness kinda turn me into an app in this past year, when it seems most of my moments were lived through some social media. Is my life that unreachable or I don't have a life at all? And maybe when you're getting aroused reading my sexual adventures with a lustful lover, you won't notice that I'm talking about someone I love so much that whenever we're only hold hands I'm already infinitely more fulfilled than when imagining any of the craziest stories I publish here. Maybe the more I think I'm showing, the more I'm actually hiding.Can't blame you for not seeing me, but I'm real. I keep breathing when I get offline. I take showers, I taste food, I drool when I sleep and mostly wake up with a real messy hair. I ride buses, I discuss archeology, I burn my fingers when ironing a shirt, I scare pigeons in market squares and I really have no sense of fashion.

In fact these sex stories are quite the opposite of everything I really wanted to be able to talk about, because when I'm living I have no time to waste on shallow tales to amuse others: I'm too busy being happy.

It seems I have been having plenty of free time now.

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