Fornication

Fornication, to pick a word, is my philosophy, my world view, my raison d’etre.

I for one don’t go in for romance and relationships. I stopped looking for love in all the right places around the time I gave up on Santa Claus. I have a sex addiction, for sure, but beyond that I suppose I’m a little off, a little twisted. But, you know, I’m not guilty about it. Maybe nature just hard wires some people a little different. Maybe serving the needs of men in that way is my function, my little niche on the planet. Maybe it’s the pheromones. Whatever it is, I crave it.

No, I don’t believe in love. I just believe in the fuck. The fuck, and the craving for the fuck; and the only relationship I need is an introduction to a good hard dick. Besides, the way I see it, the only thing a man needs to love about me, when its all said and done, is that feeling he gets when he runs it deep up against the walls of this pussy-hole to get that feeling he likes!

The Dark at the Top of the Stairs

There is a place I know. It's like so many other places like it. There is nothing special about it except for the privacy it affords. My place is a stairway that leads to an overgrown railroad property. I'm not sure why it's there, or what it may have accessed originally. These days it's just an old concrete stairway with rusted disused railings. For some reason it has never been closed or removed. It's located in the heart of the city but when you reach the top of the stairs you might as well be in some forgotten wilderness. The only people that visit the place are up to no good. Occasionally a freight train may pass by, but mostly it's an empty thicket of underbrush strewn with discard bottles and other bits of debris.

My place at the top of the stairs is very quiet and private, and you can hear any would be fellow trespasser long before they reach the summit. This place at the top of the stairs is quiet, private, overgrown, remote, and above all, just treacherous enough for a smuggled encounter, a dark dreamscape for working off a craving for filthy sex. My place at the top of the stairs is a perfect destination for two to writhe away the moment, give or take twenty minutes.

When I get in that mood I might visit my special place at the top of the stairs with anyone who might, for a moment, spark my interest. Maybe I'll take up with a man who made me a lewd offer, or maybe some guy nervously spinning his wedding ring, deciding whether to let his inner demon out. In the privacy of the thick brush I can make a kind of nasty picnic of it. Nobody need for romance, or even names.

In makes no difference what sort of man he is, most of them are really quite nice, regular gentlemen most of the time, no doubt. But me I want to get a man to let his inner dog out, and the place at the top of the stairs is the perfect place to get down to basics. After all, in a place like that, any man is understanding of what a bitch like me gets used for.

In the end I always get what I came for, a bone-rattling deep thrusting fuck, and if I served the man right, he'll leave me with a thick creamy reward to remember him by.

Every now and then some guy will try to reform me. To them I say, don't try to redeem me brother, this is how I want it, this is who I am. I'm the dark at the top of the stairs. Just let nature be.