Clothes are a part of desire, clothes and desire are irreducible. Stripping. C. said that her husband is no longer aroused by the sight of her nudity. He suggests her to wear a nurse’s uniform. She has all that kind of sexwear in her drawers. « At least wear a dress », - he says at times, when she is reluctant to wear those.
(via therapy-heights)
My boyfriend is this writing, an addict of texture. Bisexuality in a woman’s body is a norm. Bisexuality in a man’s body is a phenomenon. In ten years of searching a bisexual boyfriend on dating websites, I have barely ever came across of a bisexual man. But my own bisexuality is always at my disposal to be studied. A norm, so to say, a routine.
(via therapy-heights)
Suddenly I remember his irresponsive ears towards which I whispered “I want you” on the last night ever.
(via therapy-heights)
Suddenly I remember his irresponsive ears towards which I whispered “I want you” on the last night ever.
(via therapy-heights)
I read out loud a poem to him. I misread the word ‘kinky’ to ‘kindly’ in the poem.
(via therapy-heights)
My boyfriend is this writing, an addict of texture. Bisexuality in a woman’s body is a norm. Bisexuality in a man’s body is a phenomenon. In ten years of searching a bisexual boyfriend on dating websites, I have barely ever came across of a bisexual man. But my own bisexuality is always at my disposal to be studied. A norm, so to say, a routine.
(via therapy-heights)
I read out loud a poem to him. I misread the word ‘kinky’ to ‘kindly’ in the poem.
(via therapy-heights)
I read out loud a poem to him. I misread the word ‘kinky’ to ‘kindly’ in the poem.
(via therapy-heights)
“Confidence, like art, never comes from having all the answers; it comes from being open to all the questions.”
(Source: goodreads.com, via therapy-heights)
Suddenly I remember his irresponsive ears towards which I whispered “I want you” on the last night ever.
(via therapy-heights)
Literary canon was designed for people who don’t really have literary sensibility…
I read out loud a poem to him. I misread the word ‘kinky’ to ‘kindly’ in the poem.
(via therapy-heights)
Suddenly I remember his irresponsive ears towards which I whispered “I want you” on the last night ever.
Your lookalike died in August 2013. Very famous in underground circles, but barely any picture of him on google images. Same hair, same shoes, same smile. Your lookalike. In a publicity of a dating website a girl confides in her friend: now that I have broken up with my boyfriend, I only want to go out with his lookalike.
(via therapy-heights)