A story

I've been obsessing over this story recently. It's one of my favorites. I have it bookmarked. I think about it when I dare to touch myself. I think about it when my mind wanders. It's delicious, for a time. But there comes a point where I hate myself for liking it so much. This is a common cycle for me. I find a story I like, then it dawns on me what, objectively, that says about me, and then the guilt settles in. The guilt lasts for an undefined period of time. Then I go back to reading all the twisted erotica I've collected over the years, and it all begins again.

It's frustrating, because I'm not sure what to do with all this guilt. Oddly enough, guilt is both a bane and a kink for me. It's a fine line, because... well, as with most things with me, too much of it will absolutely kill the mood.

In conclusion, I caught my reflection in the mirror today and noticed that my hair is exceptionally cute. Non sequiturs, yay!