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Alice & OZ – unfortunate ‘sexidents’

March 13, 2015 - whoneedslove -

this is the reflection between two characters about the blurry fantasy we paint with alcohol and other mind altering substances around our world – around us.

Friday the 13th. again! and Alice & OZ have something to share – again!

in 99% of the cases ‘intercourse’ has a happy ending, for both. but once in a while the 1% can really really fuck with your day, your mental balance, and your genitals.

OZ:

sex is great! the more trust, the smoother the thrust, even without vaseline. and – by the way – who says the slimy lotion just goes with butt-holes? most people use their own organic lubricant (spit) to make sure everything is glibbery and the dick slips, in barrier-free accessibility, into the vagina.
another natural lubricant is teasing: being adorable, the star and the object of desire clears the way to healthy and safe sex – teasing makes him harder and her wetter.

however, the 1% can hit every wo(men). especially if you’re under the influence of stimulating substances that make you horny like a fattened bull. you skip all the tenderness of a loving foreplay, you thrust like an athlete, you’re reaching for the sky and the sky has no limit. the movement gets out of control, two bodies colliding like atoms, a fleshy chaos, destroying the structure. in the heat of the moment, I suddenly felt a sharp, warm pain. my instincts kept me from considering to stop and she kept riding me. maybe I assumed the electrified feeling of a lightning bolting all the way downwards from my abdomen would be some weird pre-coming or so.
the disaster woke me up the next morning in the shower. washing my penis I felt the pain and a lump right underneath my ‘dick-head’. it was hard like a rock, I was able to move it, but from that spot pink and reddish lines showed the blood spreading all over my man-part. my dick looked like a rainbow and I still haven’t found the pot of gold.

Alice:

Some people have additive personalities. They usually latch onto a particular synthetic drug that makes them feel the way they can’t recreate naturally. Some people enjoy feeling like they’ve been electrically charged by a defibrillator, and others want to melt into peanut shaped pools filled with whipped cream, others want to forget the laws of gravity and send reality spinning through space like a giant gyrating mechanical sphere.

I personally like to be electric. I like the stimulating tunnel vision. I like the tingling on my skin of my body working four times faster. I like the heavy consistent breathing. I like the manic fury in my eyes when I try to get what I want. I always want more. So I do more, take more, feel more.

One side effect of these powders and potions is a stimulated libido, an intensified desire for fluid exchange with a mate. So you lock eyes and fornicate over and over and over again until it stops being much of an exchange of fluids and more of a dry exchange of inflammation. But you keep going at it like little spring bunnies forgetting to hydrate until your urethra closes up and your urine turns to vinegar.

Maybe you end up falling asleep but probably not, but you’ve defiantly plunged out of your euphoria, and your head is killing you. You’re parched body is in emergency mode. Your liver isn’t failing because water is being drained from your brain, pulling the membranes and detaching it from the skull.

You try to drink an ocean but the damage is done. Every move of your head feels like pin ball and every time you take a piss it feels like you’ve swallowed a dragon or put a chilli pepper on your clit, which perhaps is a story for another time.

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