Holy Grail || l.s.

1. Returned And Fucked

Mood: Staring At The Stars-Passenger

Louis' POV

There's a saying that goes; when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade -or you sell it, to buy more lemons and build an orchard.

You see, life isn't a one-track road. It's not even two, or three because life's unpredictable like that. In that case, why live life with restrictions? Why not spread your fucking rainbow-colored wings and raise that middle finger towards all the haters, figuratively. Or well maybe literally. Anyway, love yourself and all your fucking flaws, and take that stupid pole out of your ass to feel the breeze of freedom. Your ass will thank you.

Embrace that uniqueness just like the way you embrace a lover -or a one night stand, whichever suits your taste. Because life's too short to fuck only one guy and there's too many fishes in the sea. Along with too many hidden places to fuck. And fucking is like the best thing that could happen to an unattached male. It's like a drug that's calling out to you, screaming; fuck, look at that guy's cock, it would fill you up nicely wouldn't it? God, would I love that cock-

You know what? Fuck it. This motivational speech thing is bullshit.

Whatever they said during therapy is, was, and will still be considered bullshit. Look at me for example. This, is not a poster boy for recently rehabilitated nymphomaniacs. It's not, when every second of the day, I'm still thinking of sex, cocks and asses, usually with all three combined. And motivational speeches, can't do a fucking thing because you know what? Sex is good. It's great. Satisfying even.

It's like licking Nutella off a spoon and then realizing that it feels good on your tongue and you're reminded of how it feels to suck a dick, and damn. You're hard again. It's also like looking at a student passing by as I walk through the school grounds. He's got a great ass, and there's a slight sway to it as he walks. He wasn't checking out my ass, but there's a raise of an eyebrow as he looks at my crotch. Bottom. Not like that guy from last week who tried to grope my ass. Gay, but taken. Confused. His girlfriend kept texting him the entire night.

Seriously though, sex addiction isn't that bad personally, except for popping boners now and then, but who's complaining when there's someone to take care of it? Who cares when there's someone who can fuck it out of you and you can fuck it out of their system too? It's a win-win situation -sexual collaborative teamwork. You fuck their ass, they fuck yours.

And being 22 doesn't even narrow down the selection pool, especially when you're openly gay. Although there are moments where I have to reintroduce my right hand to my dick as I watch a large guy fuck a twink's ass. It's a coping mechanism, I know. Stress, and it's an outlet of frustration and all that fucking jazz. A bachelor degree in Law, along with a few graduate courses isn't helping me with this.

Okay, so I fucked someone during therapy. It takes two to fucking tango on the sheets so basically; we both fucked each other even if we both weren't supposed to. He was a great lay, though. A few years older, a bit on the nerdy side, has a great cock. I could worship it all day long -wait, I already did. It was glorious and incredibly satisfying. Like fuck, it was a perfect dick.

Those two weeks were my perfect definition of therapy.