Making a sale an hour here. Writing helps to highlight the oppressiveness of time. Don’t get me wrong, I know that things could be much worse. But this isn’t exactly pleasure central. Even though I’ve got my own music streaming all around me, it’s the cameras, the surveilling nature of my boss, that really weighs on me. I know that I’ve talked about this before, but it’s what i’m thinking about at the moment, so deal with it. I don’t have to justify my actions here. It’s got to be the pressure of the presses that’s making me do it, trying to make me feel like I’ve got to be creative all the time, at the top of my game every moment. Sometimes I just need to take a freedom break, a breath to figure things out, to go back over some of my obsessions and touch a smoothing over into them.

I’m just like you, really. Trying to get by. I’m pushing orgasms out here and there, but a lot of that process involves a continuous mental stroking. It’s not all masturbation. Turning this voyeuristic act into intercourse is more fulfilling. I can be a real Casanova. It takes consent on both of our parts. Don’t let anybody try to convince you otherwise. You’ve got to cum to me for me to cum in you. Seeing your face light up is the real reward. Getting by is fine but when I see your face light up, that makes all the difference. Your brain fumes with life, and It makes me happy.

It’s a game that we play. The trick is to lure you in and make you love me. I don’t know if it’s your brain, your spirit, or your flesh, but something tingles. Something resonates. You smile. I smile. We’re smiling together. There’s chemistry between us. Babies can be made from this. New creations. Influence. What is that anyways but a substance that enters into us and goes into what then comes next?

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