Here is a memo--after a night of pills & drinking you can get me to agree to pretty much anything. That's just in regular conversation when I am feeling euphoric and wanting to spread around the happiness. You know how it is--so asking me something when I am in that state is one thing, but asking me while you're in the middle of fucking me is entirely another, especially when it is coupled with the fact that I have been boozing and cavorting crazily with a multitude of illegalish substances.

In my head this all wrote itself & is not coming together nearly as well in print. I guess I should get to the point and be like:

I am not sorry that I banged you cause the sex is fantastic, but I am sorry that you thought the right time to bring up the fact that you have decided that I could probably and am most definitely still having sex with other people and it should stop, was right in the middle of fucking. In the middle of fucking I would sign on the dotted line and become a fucking prison bitch in some skin-e-max made for cable film starring Rosie O'Donnel.

At any rate, I am thankful that this blog is unpublicized and said man cannot track down my inner thoughts. The closest he is going to get to any of that is my inner thighs.

P.S.
I love this photo cause it looks like the man is going to kick off the ladies head in a fit of joy the moment he comes. Amazing.