I hear you MrBigDick. This happens to everyone from time to time. I am not far removed from a love dispondent state myself. We do not get to pick the life we want, just make the best of what we have. Still, sometimes I want to watch the world burn with everyone in it with a smile, but then who would I have sex with?! Hawaii does sound nice, but it is hardly a paradise with all those people on it. Yet, it is better to be kind than a super villian I suppose, but clearly less fun. The world is always close to destruction from war, famine, disease, and stupidity; better fuck someone while we can. I was just free writting the following. I suppose love and sex have been heavy on my mind (for a couple decades now), and I have found myself in that place several times.
I have seen a thousand beautiful faces, each going about her day, oblivious to the desire that looks upon her, ready to fulfill her every erotic dream and forge new ones she has little imagined. But they are all lost in an immature game of love and hate, passion and bitterness. Pointless to pursue the thousand beautiful faces that pass by, disinterested in bliss but busy with some pedestrian affair. I just sit here all alone, dreaming of a love who is not.
But who is this, Ms. one thousand and one? Did her eyes dart this way for a moment of sexual longing for my lap, or was she looking at the handbag for sell behind me in the store window? Alas, she is asleep like all the rest, or chasing a dream-man who cannot perceive her desire as she cannot see mine. Should I approach her? She would think me a stalker or a loser, when I am a lover thinking of caressing her dark hair, biting her neck, loosening her blouse, and making deperate love to her while all the people gather round in slack-jawed amazement. Perhaps she is a good woman in every sense who is already taken, or worse still, she is a whore, and mistook the bulge in my pants for a wallet of future clothes, gems, and exotic vacations.
Yet compelled to try, for the sake of love or to cure my ass, numb from too long sitting on the unforgiving bench. Walking up to her from behind, I gently take her arm as she glares into my face, searching for malicius or kind intent. To her I say, "Hello. Might I love you, for a hundred years, until we are both rotting flesh below the earth, after having loved like no two others before or since; or at least for today?"