The ramblings of a whore

Isn't lust supposed to be one of the biggest sins?
I think it should be more... direct. Lust shouldn't be a sin, what one will do to quench lustful cravings should be one.

It can all begin with a look, just one. Then I'm hooked. One look can say so much, the electricity can literally spark between you and suddenly the room is empty. With that one look I turn from a girl on a night out with friends, to a predator looking for someone to pounce. Forgive my crudeness.

I am what you could call a whore. My only moments of happiness are when I am in the sweaty embrace of a lover- that there is my biggest sin. I crave for the kisses on my neck and the desperate tension between you and someone you met five minutes ago. They don't know you, they don't know your name, but they WANT you. All the rest, in that moment, doesn't matter. Once that moment is gone, so are they, and they needn't know you're thinking of the next time you can get your problems fucked out of you.

I am human; I crave love like the next person. But the type of love I want doesn't exist. My heart belongs to Heathcliff and Darcy, any real man is a colossal disappointment in comparison. The love I want is of utter devotion and passion, something I tell myself doesn't exist as I have never experienced it. I find my sweet sweet bliss in the moments I can and then my world is filled with darkness once more.

In a moment of passion you can get a man to confess is undying love for you, when he wants nothing but to feel you tense around him as he strokes your soft skin. You know they don't believe it, and I don't want them to. Attachment is an unrealistic expectation that we have as humans, and thanks to my disappointments in life I no longer have any.

The most intense passion I have felt for another has been in these moments. The first kiss filled with a passion that could set you on fire. The hands frantically feeling your body, appreciating the lumps and bumps you spent hours trying to hide. They tear of your clothes and in that brief brief moment, you're wanted, you're loved. You're desired. And the rest is a free fall of desire and moans, grabs and scratches, desperation and adoration.

When it's over the emptiness returns, and you are left feeling more empty than you ever have in your life. They put on their clothes and they leave. You realise that they got the only thing they wanted from you, and you gave the only thing you wanted to give. But deep down there's the regret.

See, I know what I'm doing. I go after the men that just want sex. I do that on purpose.

Because the regret I feel when I'm lying in my bed alone is nothing compared to seeing someone realise they fell in love with a monster.