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Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat.

When Strangers Click, a 2011 documentary about online dating.

It reminds me of that famous Margaret Atwood quote: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” It also reminds me of something written by one of the mods of Sex Worker Problems: “Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”

I mean, it’s just true.

(via tealeafprincess)

enasnivolz: ealperin: reading-thoughts: edwardspoonhands: Not Iambic….Do Not Accept… These tags I’ll pop, and boast in rhyming versethat what I wear puts swagger in my gait;though twenty shillings have I in my purse,my self-esteem and manhood both inflatewhen lofty furs I purchase for a cent.Thy grandpa’s clothes are worthy salvage, thoughthey smell a trifle musty. Still, I spentmuch less to dress myself from head to toe. To save or not to save? The question’s moot.I’ll never give my coin to high-street crooks.These dusty shelves will yield their hidden lootto those, like me, more frugal in their looks.Like ancient coins washed up on distant shores,I’ll find my treasures in these thrifty stores.      - Macklemore, “Thrift Shoppe” *Crying with laughter* ITS IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER. SWEET JESUS THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.
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enasnivolz:

ealperin:

reading-thoughts:

edwardspoonhands:

Not Iambic….Do Not Accept…

These tags I’ll pop, and boast in rhyming verse
that what I wear puts swagger in my gait;
though twenty shillings have I in my purse,
my self-esteem and manhood both inflate
when lofty furs I purchase for a cent.
Thy grandpa’s clothes are worthy salvage, though
they smell a trifle musty. Still, I spent
much less to dress myself from head to toe.

To save or not to save? The question’s moot.
I’ll never give my coin to high-street crooks.
These dusty shelves will yield their hidden loot
to those, like me, more frugal in their looks.
Like ancient coins washed up on distant shores,
I’ll find my treasures in these thrifty stores.
     - Macklemore, “Thrift Shoppe”

*Crying with laughter*

ITS IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER. SWEET JESUS THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.

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.

(via shamelessssinner)

(Source: nikolaiolivier)

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