The fact that I've never had an orgasm during normal sex is actually a "Zeno's paradox", I'm Achilles, and the turtle that doesn't catch up is orgasm. My reliance on toys and my lips, tongues and fingers is more than a newborn's reliance on its mother's breasts. Maybe I've never been completely relaxed and immersed in ordinary heterosexual relationships, always in a state of tension, ready to hide at any time. I passed on the mistrust I had accumulated from my father to every innocent male individual. So alienated borderline ambiguous or even non-exclusive relationships are more conducive to my survival, and I keep the bottom line to a minimum to avoid disappointment of any kind. This also just confirms my (barely called) love for Mr. *. He always quietly appeared in my life in the dark and invisible late at night, preferring to use the delicate tongue like a baby to express his love for my privacy rather than the rough male organs. His occasional series of emotions just need to be displayed in a container called "children" without using my real name in the world. Like the polyphony played by the organ, the base part is a secure undertone, and the Cantus Firmus is the extreme thrill of an affair. Although I haven't liberated much of his sperm, according to the original words, both of them have been saved. Maybe this is the best ending for a comet-tailed relationship? While preparing to experience only numb self-stimulation in the future, there is a little expectation in my heart, so that people can continue to live while dragging the shackled uterus.
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