Qu’est-ce que tu fais?
The nastiest thing to do to oneself, but it was the easiest. This body isn’t other boy ready yet, and he already knows what I look like so it seemed like a very good idea…at the time. It all began with that fated morning when my friend had dragged me out of bed with a glorious shopping proposition, instantly I was up and ready for a spree. But the problem with having no money means not being able to spoil yourself.
And it’s true. After this whole break up shit mess I really needed to spoil myself. I had stripped my girlfriend clothes from my body, and gone in search for some glorious summer dresses that would attract a decent male, not a prick like the last one. So I borrowed from myself, which is what I do everyday anyway, because broke. I had locked myself up in my bedroom for so long that shopping became my christianity, and my reason for life. So, I am not going to lie to you, I hit the shops hard. I had managed to grab myself an IVY PARK jumper from Topshop, in my size (the last hidden one on the rail), which seemed like an impossibility to do. However, the shit thing is that it had a make-up stain on the arm, and I am not skilled with stain removal… make-up wipe? So, I was after a discount, because come on it is not like I put the stain there myself. But no, Topshop would not allow it, so fuck you… I still bought the plain white jumper with a someone’s stain on it for £50. But it was the last one. By this point the bags were piling up, not that many bags though because of the charge, but I had a few. We were in the last shop, the cheapest of the bunch with the dregs of money we had left (I had already blown my budget in the first shop). My friend was taking forever in the changing room, which was allocated in the lingerie section, which is my biggest weakness. I love lingerie, who doesn’t like to feel sexy, and then show that sexy? There were so many cute things that were revealing in all the right places stuff, which I kept adding to the basket. I think I even had stockings in my hand at one point (which never happens… I was in that deep). After spending £65 on sexy things, I was trying to air the idea about sex with the ex to the friend, who was instantly giving me the eyes. Do not give me the eyes please, I just want to have sex. It’s not fair on me, I didn’t want to break up. I am happy to degrade myself just this once. The silence that proceeded my awful idea pursued me to think that it was a good idea, so I sent him a message. It wasn’t just any message, I sent him a blurry photo of a sneak peak of what I was buying. But he didn’t get it. And it pissed me off. But I just wanted to get home, put some red lipstick on, drink some wine and whore it out for the evening. With my wild night planned out in front of me, I grabbed my bags tight and strutted off home very pleased with myself.
I am betting you wanting to get to the point of the post, which was the sex with the ex bit, but don’t think I am going to get pornographic for you, because it really isn’t my area… yet. After a stressful couple of hours, I was home, dressed and feeling amaaaaazing. I answered the door in a body suit hidden under a black gown, and of course the stockings. For a change I didn’t look like a round ball, it was all quite flattering and lets just say he got the message quickly, too quickly and I had to find ways of slowing it down. And then it seemed to be so over all quickly. Once it was in; it was good, but after a little while I sort of wanted it to be over, because I remembered why it was over. And afterwards there was this pool of regret that I slept in. He seemed really happy, and I didn’t want him to happy. I didn’t feel happy. But that obviously wasn’t enough to stop me sleeping with him again in the morning. What was I doing? Why do we all do it? It is so stupid and it leaves us feeling like shit because these guys are absolute fucking idiots every day of their lives. (The break-up has made me a little sour, I’m open to dating if there are any guys interested…).
It was probably not the best idea I have ever had, but I didn’t have many more. My body wanted one thing and my head just didn’t happen to agree that one time. Sex with him is much better than sex with strangers, he knows me, and I know him, and I am going to sound like a major girl here, but it’s like a re-touching of the souls. I know GAAAAY. But it didn’t take any effort, and some of it was nice. I wasn’t a major loser.
Even though it was naughty, and I really should not have done it. I did not let him leave with the idea that I was his again, that he had the power and that I was at his feet. It was important for him to leave, and to miss me. I deserve nothing more than this man at my feet praying for forgiveness. You just have to find your strength, and remember that you’re this bad bitch below, and that little fuck ups like this can happen!
what is lemonade doing to me?