The Primitive Acts of Insanity

1.Sex and other primitive acts
   •Eat me, like an anorexic who’s surrendered 
   •Continue, like a binge-eating bulimic 
   •Flip me over and fuck me, just as intense as an orthorexic would (burn them calories girlie!)
   •Finish me off and ask if it’s your turn like an idiot
   •As I exit like an Irishman 

2.The middle play
   •Savor my absence like a true hedonist
   •Think of me 24/7 like an obsessed motherfucker
   •Punch the wall with pathetic fury, like a fragile beta unraveling
   •Paint me like one of your french girls
   •And I’ll consider your application like an HR manager you’ll never meet again.

3.The after play
   •Linger outside my house with relentless desperation like a stalker
   •Bring your telescope and act like Peeping Tom
   •Sing to me like a golden buzzer from America’s Got Talent
   •Bother my neighbors like a freak who’s escaped from the psych ward
   •And hear me call the cops, shrieking like an easily offended granny

4.Pregnancy and other primitive acts
   •Attend my wedding 20 years later like a miserable fuck
   •Interrupt me and my husband like you’re the main character in some twisted romcom
   •Deliver your speech while you shake like an addict
   •Watch my kid and feel a growing joy as they look a little too much like you
   •And take the W like a Fortnite player

5.The charming mankind
   •Take our kid to the park like a real nuclear family does
   •Punch him for dropping his ice cream like it’s Tyson against Mitch Green
   •Feel the regret like an empath
   •Tell him not to tell mom like every other father does
   •Then stitch him up like the nurse you were too uneducated to become

6.The charming womankind
   •Watch our daughter buy her first thong like you regret having her
   •Watch her come home with semen in her dimples like she has an OF account
   •Disown her like a catholic
   •Spit at her like someone who is too sensitive to swallow
   •Forget what we ever meant to you like you have Alzheimer’s

7.Pedro
   •Travel to LA like a soundcloud rapper
   •Party like a rockstar
   •Look like a moviestar
   •Adopt a new kid like Angelina Jolie
   •You’ve put your past behind you just like the Pinterest quotes told you to do

8.A downfall in the music industry
THIS PART IS UNFINISHED, BUT IT’S ABOUT PEDRO COMING BACK FROM LA.

9.My moving in party
   •Continue to tear me apart like I’m a t-shirt in the early 2000s
   •Play with my head like a professional hypnotizer
   •Have me losing my sense of reality like a pothead
   •Lock me up like an animal
   •Lock our kids up like they’re animals too

10.Pedro, again
   •Hand us some food like we’re begging on the streets
   •Have us watch you slaughter the family dog like you’re peeling a potato
   •Have us watch you eat its heart like Dahmer
   •Lock the basement door as your friends come over like everything’s normal
   •Hear us scream as Arsenal scores 1-0

11.How he met their mother
   •Watch the documentary about us like it’s HIMYM
   •Watch it from your prison cell like Wentworth Miller
   •Brush it off as if the other inmates don’t care
   •But watch your back like a schizophrenic
   •And count your days like a rapist in a small community

12.The beauty of Pakistan and its remarkable history
   •Notice my steps like I’m about to walk in on you and the girl next door
   •See how I pull my glock up smoothly like a roadman
   •Feel me blow your brains out like the talibans tried to do to Malala
   •But watch me succeed like they didn’t
   •Lay like a worthless mannequin at the corner of the theater’s wardrobe

13.Death and other primitive acts
   •Feel the dirt surround your coffin like an unfound artifact in the remains of Mesopotamia 
   •Feel the lack of guests above as if you were Hitler getting buried anonymously in Buch
   •Try to rest in peace as if peace was ever something you deserved
   •Molder like the sourdough now thriving in our compost
   •Listen as I put on your favorite song: Like A Fool by Crazy P

1. Sex and other primitive acts
I’m watching his disgusted look peeking through my thigh gap. The room smells like a fucking slaughterhouse and Pedro is absolutely feasting on the point of cause. He’s the beauty and I’m the smelly beast. He’s clean boy Jane. I’m Tarzan but even nastier  now that my yeast infection has spread. It’s almost like an ivy climbing its way down to my knees. When he needs a break I tell him to peel off the dead skin from the flesh’s embellished ecosystem. I moan even though his peeling has absolutely no effect except being satisfactorily pleasant. He puts all the excess skin in a pile just yearning for my approval of his creation. I feel bad for the heap lying neatly on the nightstand, forced to endure the abuse of watching our meeting.

So I look back at him, give him a thumbs up and nod to show him it’s time to get back to work. He does it just like I’ve told him to, and now I’m on my stomach. He’s trying his best to make me feel that knob of a genital. The dedication gets me off. His longing to be enough even though he never will is actually so fucking sexy I just want to pet him on his skinny shoulder. The fluid no one ever gave a fuck to name is pouring and shooting out of me as I pull away. An even more disgusted look appears on his face. It’s over and he knows it. Once again, this is it. 

He asked if it was his turn right before I left. It was the question that made me leave Pedro as if I was an Irishman. I never thought a simple desire like that would make me shiver like the withdrawals used to make me do. It was worse than when the doctor told me I had a severe case of hemorrhoids. They’re gone now, but as they grew on my arse they also grew on my mind. And those memories won’t leave by applying Xyloproct. After having my treatment done I went and bleached my precious stink. Therefore, despite my crotch being of a distorted palette, my anal’s always white and shiny. It’s like a tattoo for the sake of remembering. 

I might as well have written down my date of birth. It’s not the same though - I don’t remember being pushed out of my mother’s pussy. She’ll always tell me how miserable it was giving birth to me. How my head was too big. Sometimes when angry she’ll tell me that it wasn’t even worth it. love my mom, but I also love being the cause of her bottom tearing apart like a fucking fault line. I imagine it just like my favorite scene from the movie Ice Age (I think it’s the first one). The retarded looking squirrel named Scrat puts his acorn in the ice and suddenly Pangea splits up into our seven continents.

A wise man once told me that no one has a sexuality - we’re all just sexual. Even though it’s denying asexuality, I’ve tried to live by that conclusion ever since. Still, I can’t deny the fact that walking home from my encounters with the male species feels sort of odd. It always does. Even though it might sound crazy, I used to have this idea of men being restricted to reproductive purposes only. Females on the other hand, I find to be more suitable when it comes to sexual pleasure. It’s only recently that I’ve been open to letting a man try to eat me out. It’s more of a demand than letting, but whatever, and most of the time it’s like when an anorexic person finally decides to surrender. I’ve come to realize that men tend to give up rather than give in, and they capitulate in the most primitive way. There is absolutely no time for care or reflection. It’s wild and painfully out of control. And above all: shameful. It’s like the bulimics on their way to the bathroom. I actually find that sort of shame surprisingly arousing, especially now that my yeast infection has intensified the humiliation of their acts. Sadly, this time it wasn’t as hectic as it usually is. Pedro just wasn’t as frenetic as the guys I’ve used to date before. He didn’t even fuck me with the rapidity of an orthorexic doing cardio (That was the last ED-reference). However, Pedro had something else. Pedro had dedication. Just like everyone else who has entered the infected forest of mine, he was shocked. I could literally hear his stomach taking a turn. It was beautiful. It was even more astonishing watching him put his tongue into it like it was a matter of life and death. He had to, and he knew it. He needed to prove his skills as a man with deficient penis measures. I wouldn’t call myself a dominatrix. Never. But it would be a lie if I said that the power didn’t turn me on. 

CHAPTER ONE IS TO BE CONTINUED
SO IS THE REST OF THE STORY