Passion is necessary for sex, unless you are Mormon or one of those weird Jews. The ones with the hair and the insurance scams? Yeah, those ones. Thankfully, “passion” is an open-ended thing. Passion isn’t the same as love. I only ever loved one girl I’ve fucked. I have certainly fucked more girls than I have loved (and well!). Passion seems to split into romance and violence pretty nicely.

With Romantic-Passion, you can’t fake it; it’s got to be real. But you need passion, like we said. Otherwise, she tells her girlfriends that you are “bad at fucking,” and that becomes a whole thing.

The only recourse is Violent-Passion, then. Now we have got hordes of young girls getting pissed on, getting slapped, getting choked, we spit in their mouth, call them whores: you don’t need me to tell you. And ladies, we do it for you! You need the passion; you didn’t specify.

They seem to like it. And women are like the Chinese: they’re hard to get a read on. But when a Chinese slurps their noodles, you know they are loving it. Same with women and fucking.

I don’t love you. You don’t love me. But you don’t want to get fucked poorly, do you? By sophomore year, the girls are fully getting the game.

This sort of thing should disgust me, being a good Catholic and all. I didn’t make the world, I just live in it. So I take it as it is. But this night last weekend, something strange happened. Allow me the liberty:

Our entwined tongues dance and twist. My fingers around her neck pulling her closer; my thumb resting on her delicate cheek. I withdraw, pull her to me, and kiss, suck, and bite her neck. Her mouth agape, I feel her hot breath blowing past my ear, and I hear her softly moaning in ecstasy. It arouses me. I take off my shirt as she unbuttons hers, letting her pale, full breasts fall. We were two lovers in heat. I tell her to turn around. She obeys, and slowly pulls down her panties, revealing, and presenting. I enter her, and she moans in delight. Relieved of the agony of anticipation, her pleasure becomes effervescent. Each thrust a sexual rapture, and she delights in her chaotic mind: her limitless delight. She revels in her lover’s aggression.

As I continue to thrust, I grasp her neck with my fingers, pulling her into me, my chest against the back of her shoulders, while my right hand remains on her neck, gently squeezing, and my left hand reaches across her and caresses her breast. Entwined, I thrust harder, and she squeals in delight. I bite down on her shoulder, my own mind now lost.

She knows she is close to orgasm. Her body is engulfed by mine, pinned to mine. As she climaxes, her head falls back, her eyes close, and she moans in delight. I can feel her body shaking against mine. I release her body and she falls prone. I follow her down and kiss along her back.

She turns over to face me, and I look into her glazed eyes. She has never looked so beautiful. No woman has ever looked so beautiful. I spread her legs apart and push them back. I enter her once more. She turns her head to the side and closes her eyes. She begins to play with her breasts. She turns to face me again with those glazed eyes, and that primal itch becomes uncontrollable. I sink into her. I feel her breasts pressed against my chest. We kiss. I pull back, but our lips are still so close, occasionally grazing as I thrust into her. She turns her head to nibble on my ear.

Reason overtakes me. I pull out and bust on her tits and face.

I wonder to myself what the fuck that just was. She uses my AC/DC T-shirt as a cum-rag and goes to take a piss. I have a cigarette. She returns and has a drag. It’s hard to look at this woman, although she is beautiful.

“You should take a shower. Clean up.”

She goes. I preemptively order an Uber. I knew she wanted to stay the night. She returns.

“You know, maybe I could stay tonight. We could grab breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh fuck, really? Shit, I didn’t want to assume, I literally just called your Uber, girls never want to stay over, fuck dude, I’m sorry about that.”

“I mean, you could cancel it…”

“It was a 2x fare, you understand. Some other time, though. I had a fun time.”

She shifts her weight back and forth. “Yea, I had a nice time too.” Her voice trailed off towards the end.

“I folded your clothes while you were showering. It looks like its five minutes away, the Uber.”


“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“I’ll see you around.”


I was never going to see this woman again of my own volition. So she leaves. In a cute way, too. How do girls manage to do mundane shit in a cute way? I had an ex that walked down the stairs to let me up in a cute way. Must have been the apron. She was cooking me dinner. I loved her for sure. But this girl? Knew her for a couple hours at most. Shame on me for faking Romantic-Passion. If I pissed on her, I probably would have let her stay the night.