Respiration Higher In Reptile Or Mammal

Stuck on the pleasure principle - by Isadora

A text you sent me.

All reactions are welcome.

MW

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Like the household well.

Like the sun coming into my apartment in cepet space for me, like me.

I have someone that does this for me: who arange, cleaned, perfumed, prepared, cooked. With love. Who is there when I veux.Qui hand when I want to be alone.

I do not have someone who does that for me.

I have both.

I do not make a accounts.

I do nothing.

But I like that I thank him.

I prefer to be thanked.

So I prefer to have done.

But I rarely want to do.

is laziness.

I belong to somebody, but I do not want mepossède.

I have someone, but it seems that this is paspossible.

Like the idea of giving myself to him, but as I only prendpas really, it does not cost me much.

I look around me and it is clean, neat, clean.

I do not like the weather take me too long.

I take the time to choose the right thing, resign and order to create beauty in me, around me, by me.

I do not think it is incompatible with taking Ietemp to do my job.

I hate to be anguished by the thought of what I both business.

I do not have a knot in my stomach the idea of êtreattendue for a course, a paper, a work, production, notes unebête obligation.

I do not feel the ball away in a autreangoisse when I see a name that is displayed or not displayed on monécran on my phone.

I do not think about love when I should work.

I do not think about work when I want love.

I hate to think about money, and having to win.

I like to be invited.

Like you pay for me.

Like it gives me gifts.

I like to be beautiful for a man.

I love being a beautiful man.

I do not buy something to be beautiful, pourlui please, and it is not there.

I do not do anything to please her, as onessaierait to sell.

I love when he gives me something to be beautiful, pourlui please, and it is there.

I like to be wooed and pampered.

I do not feel an expectation in return.

I do not feel the reproach, frustration, ladéception, anger in his voice, gestures, glances of those who offreet who does not, except my joy.

I do not have to grant favors in exchange oftheir my attention, so I do not do it.

I do not feel guilty.

I do not decide to be Free and regret reversde medal.

I do not like when they kiss me and I do ressensrien, otherwise my embarrassment, my neutrality, my indifference.

I do not like when their hands rest on my body my only etque vibration is a movement to escape.

When they insisted that the unrest and rising.

What I invent complicated for their household peined'amour-esteem.

I do not like the sadness that overcomes me when the absence Dedes overwhelms me vacuum.

I do not the fear that seizes me when I montreson want me, it asks me to decide and I do not know.

I do not like when he gives me the choice and that I listen to my fautalors envy.

And in all lucidity I am forced to admit quenon, I do not want.

Like when he leaves me no choice and forces me to ledésirer.

Like watching me when he does not.

I love when it is understood that it is.

I do not like when he leaves me no choice quemalgré all, no, it does not come.

I do not not say a word, as consent, resterfroide, freezing, or mechanical, and he does not notice.

I do not guess it does not so desire or not there achez me there for him.

I do not like it do not stop when he says that Jene'm not there, present.

I do not wonder if he noticed or not.

I like to be taken.

I do not, in the pleasure of being taken Quesera imagine the horror of the same gestures, a little more brutal, much more violent, much less granted.

I do not like this fear of the thin boundary that separates a non Leou, envy of a nightmare.

I do not have to tell me so luckily I felt n'airien.

I hate to imagine what it would be if I had felt.

I like to dream available to anyone.

I do not cross anyone and afraid.

I hate being this pristine and stunning ice quandmes musings lead me to lust most assumed.

I do not like not dare.

I do not like waiting an opportunity to venture.

I do not like having to choose between my momentspour make an image, an identity, a character.

I like to think that there is someone with whom I turn Atour all dimensions of myself, my desires, my fantasies, that quim'unifie operates my synthesis, and wants me sweet, perverse, bluntly sexual, sensual, leather, satin, cotton, lace, eyes fiery, laughing eye, disturbing, reassuring, all the women in me, because I like so êtreune woman.

I do not like not being a man.

I hate not being able to penetrate all women, touching their breasts and kissing their mouth.

I hate not being able to be penetrated if I stroke unefemme.

I do not like not being able to penetrate.

I like being penetrated by him.

I love I feel, completely.

I love take me.

I do not be afraid to scare her.

I do not have to calm myself when, greedy, voracious, jebrûle unable to absorb it in me.

I do not like and feel the rage rising in me, cettedouleur exquisite the pleasure to die, when I take it in the mouth, inside me, under my hands, in every way possible, and that this Mondesir is not exhaustive, and that this desire is at an impasse, it can not find a way out, he exploded in me that I want to cry, scratching, biting, kissing, cuddling, the pampered, begging him, and that it mepossède it, he is my master, because then it holds the key, that of monenvie, it does not make me, and I no longer belong.

Like her looks painful.

I imagine, to believe the space of a moment qu'ilsouffre the same disease.

I like to think that his bite is the same reason.

I love when he enjoys.

I do not like that enjoyment is the end of cettesouffrance.

I do not like when he goes away, appeased, and it revientplus, or too late.

I do not think he needs me less than I of him.

I do not make my desire to want him.

I do not desire only him.

I desire only him.

I wish someone other than himself.

I desired.

I feel thrilled.

I feel alert, in expectation of an object surlequel fix this desire and pride myself volatile annoys me and makes me smile, moving, dancing, charm.

goodbye and I love being surprised, as a first time.

I always meet him once.

I repeat the same actions as a thousandth time.

I feel eternal breath odor.

I love him as a centenarian.

I love when he holds me tight and I feel like unarbre rooted, finally.

Like surprise looks like rencontresfugaces unknown and promises a thousand possible stories, the germ, which neseront not and we imagine in a country of words, books, where one starts and envoyage one finds a thousand unknown lands.

I wish all men dream as a story.

I love watching the sky, and Paris, and the sea, and trees, and feel, and breathe, and leave the outside, its landscapes, its warmth, sesparfums, his depressions, its bright, its storms, its colors, invading me, open up, take me, take me, take me.

I love my books.

I look at a book and feel my breathing sesuspendre in the promise of happiness, reading ahead, let cedesi embrace me, enjoy the wait, watch, touch, flick, based on pourfinalement .

Or to open it. And let me touch and go in uneétreinte with words, images, evocations, memories quis'éveillent their passage, hopes to open a eye, dreams that seforment a moment, and dissipate the cloud defeated.

I love and I do not have to hurt so much beauty.

I love and I do not feel the urgency.

I love and hate being touched to cry vouloirsauver beauty in all its epiphanies, not to support him to die, nepas bear all that is passing, timing, movement, ephemeral, instant relief.

I love and I do not feel like screaming, hitting dumarbre, seize, make marks in the real fault to maintain it, make it permanent dele, touching Being and not the movement.

I love and I do not cry in front of the task, because it is tragic, it is doomed, and yet làseulement is the meaning, the only possible meaning in the work , creation, procreation, birth, love, desire, knowledge, knowledge, science, kneading material, words, streams of color, achieving the pure form, surpassing the imperfection which is charged on any subject, all reality, all sensitive all existence and find a way To make advenirautre thing, something perfect, which would deliver us from anxiety unmoment, this anxiety about the relentlessness of death and fate, reaching to find a joy, a laugh, what, cruel, carnivore, provoking, mocking, whole, full, spontaneous, childish, naive, lucid, sad, huge, tender, in a caress, a kiss, a comforting, forceset resume again, again, again, again.

Isadora