Mi Vida Fuck

August 19, 2013 – 12:58 am

Thirty-seven years old a few days ago. The family was here to mostly go shopping and pretend that their duties of seeing me were fulfilled. I didn’t spend much time with them. I found myself angry that even on my birthday, it seemed to be more about them and less about me. Sure, my mother handed over money like she always does. I do the same thing with the bad women I pathetically spend my time with.

The last one was tough. I don’t know why. We had little in common. She’s a twenty-three year old who’s been taught that her tits and her ass is the only thing that keeps them coming through the door. Maybe she’s right. It was hard because it was regular. I was doing things. Trying new things and there was sex sex sex. More sex than I ever had in such a short period of time. It was good too for some reason. Her perversions played well with my sickness. Her willingness to fuck at any point in time worked perfectly with my insatiable appetite for continuous fornication. Young, hot latina, thinking she has a real handle on the world and a blind confidence that might just be enough to get her through it. Young and pretty…it’s what Los Angeles likes to eat for breakfast.

I don’t know what it is about those damn Latinas. Ever since I was young, the dark skinned girl with brown hair and brown eyes has been a particular interest for me. It’s the culture I assume they have, just because they’re not white. We do this as white people…we control the world and we look down on the immigrant and spew some kind of snake-tongued bullshit about “their culture” in a sneering condescending tone, “Oh, how cute are those crazy mexicans with their language and traditions.”.

But I am attracted. I am inspired by the bottomless beauty of smoothed skinned, bright smiling, whimsical Latinas. Passion like no other and did I happen to mention, just endless, agonizing beauty. Their smile will kill you. Their eyes will burn you to a fucking crisp and their love will leave you curled up in a ball, wishing to God that you could somehow erase the sharded memories of their recently-turned-cold heart.

I have been through pain unrealized by the human soul for these women and the surface of my thoughts curse their very existence. The layers below loved every harrowing minute. I would go to the end the earth for their sacred touch and I would give away my last penny for a glimpse of their sultry lips as I crumble below their enchanted steps, leaving nothing but a shell, desperate and alone, stopping at nothing to regain their presence. I want to rest. I want to be free of their spell, but now isn’t the time and I have to keep moving…I have to keep bleeding.

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