Dear diary,
Is it bad that when he kisses me, touches me, or calls a pet name, that I can't help but imagine it being someone else?
What the fuck am I telling myself, of course it's bad. Alex you're a fucking idiot. You don't need to be in this relationship.
And, someone else I'm thinking about is a seamlessly better kisser than Micheal.
I'm gonna call him John it's an inside joke. But when John and I had our fun, I didn't have to worry if I was wet enough or not. Because I knew I was. With Micheal, my main concern is that my hoo-ha is going to be chafed in the morning because I wasn't lubricated.
I know that John and I will probably never talk to each other again. But I girl can dream, can't she?
And even if I wanted to talk to John after Micheal and I are done, boys, relationships, and casual sex are going to be put on permanent hold until I can get my shit together.
Edit: Okay, so I read this over and I literally started boo-hooing like a fucking baby. I hate myself so much.
YOU ARE READING
My diary
Krótkie OpowiadaniaIt's my diary. Like it, don't like it. Read it, don't read it. I don't care. This is a way for me to blow off steam, and for other readers to relate to what I'm going through. Don't sit in the comments and tell me how to live my life. I know some...
